The Lyrium Ghost
by Aina Song
Summary: When Harry's magic unlocks a lifetime of hidden memories, he decides to take matters into his own hands to settle a number of wrongs – both recent, and long-ago.
1. Name

**Title:** The Lyrium Ghost

 **By:** Aina Song

 **Fandom(s):** Harry Potter/ Dragon Age II

 **Genre:** Yaoi

 **Rating:** PG-15

 **Warning(s):** Crossover; AU; OOC; Language; Excess Blood; Mentions of Character Death; Flashback(s) to Death Scene; DA2 Direct Quotes and Spoilers.

 **Pairing(s):** Anders/Harry x Fenris

 **Reviews:** Yes, please!

 **Author's Note:** Standard Disclaimer. This story was not written for money. _Italics_ = thought, messages, the Fade.

 **Teaser:** When Harry's magic unlocks a lifetime of hidden memories, he decides to take matters into his own hands to settle a number of wrongs – both recent, and long-ago.

 **Chapter One - Name**

He yawned widely, staring out his bedroom window as the shadows played across the moonlit street below. His relatives were long asleep; he could hear Dudley's snoring from the other side of the nearest wall. Yet Harry rested the side of his head against the window and softly drummed the fingers of one hand against the glass.. His body ached with the day's chores, his skull thrummed hazily; his eyes stung with the effort of keeping them open, and he was just so _tired_.

He glanced across the room, where he had tilted his desk lamp up to illuminate the clock hanging on the wall above. Only twenty minutes more until midnight, which would ring in his seventeenth birthday. His magic would soon reach full maturity. He would be of legal wizarding age, and would no longer be dependent on a family of Muggles that thrilled in calling him _freak_ \- among other, less mentionable insults.

He sighed, letting his mind wander while he waited. His summer this time had been spent voluntarily locked into his room whenever possible, avoiding his relatives and devoting his time and energy to extracurricular studies. He'd reread every one of his old textbooks, practicing the wand movements until they'd come as naturally as breathing. He'd studied runological theories, plucking at them, dissecting the logics in each one and jotting down a few of his own. He hadn't given his studies the obsession his friend Hermione seemed to enjoy, but he'd discovered the advantage to expanding his knowledge in secret.

He didn't yet understand why. But every instinct screamed that he would need such an advantage, and soon.

Ten minutes. He turned away from the clock, resting his brow against the window with another sigh. Earlier that week, he'd received an anonymous letter by an unknown owl. Of course, he'd used his new knowledge to test it for every curse and jinx he could think of - as much as he could without the aid of his wand, at any rate. But the letter had been clean, and upon reading it Harry had discovered it to be a bit of rather unforeseen advice as well as a warning:

 _Mister Potter._

 _You must know by now that your true destiny has long been stolen from you. Time it is that you take it back._

 _Your magic will reach full maturity upon the midnight strike of your seventeenth birthday. I'm sure you must already be planning to take your life into your own hands when Ministry Law acknowledges your legal age, but coming into your magical inheritance will also give you the backing of the entire Potter ancestral line. You will be a noble, one of few whose family name would still be respected amongst the goblin race._

 _More attention will be thrown in your direction. But, used wisely, it could be put to your advantage. Dumbledore believes himself secure in his reputation as a champion for the "greater good." If you so desire, you could use this chance to oust him for the sacrificial manipulator that he is._

 _Don't feel any responsibility to seek me out. Once your decision has been made clear, I will use whatever means at my disposal to offer you what discreet assistance I can._

Five minutes, now. Each ticking of the clock as it neared the last leg of the countdown seemed to grow in Harry's mind until he felt he could feel them in counterpulse to his own heartbeat. Deciding he had waited long enough and would rather be more comfortable for whatever was about to happen, he left the window and crossed his room to switch off the lamp. Turning back, he made it halfway across the room again before it suddenly came upon him.

His magic vanished. He felt the loss like a great gaping cavity in his chest, and he stumbled numbly to his knees before collapsing on the floor. The room around him seemed suddenly too cold and empty, a wilting near-dead space in a world without music or color. Biting down on his lip to stifle a building whimper, he hugged himself and curled up on his side, closing his eyes tight. His entire body wracked with despair. He had never felt so disconnected, so cut off from the very life of the earth,

But then his magic returned, slamming back into him in mounting rolling waves until it flooded his senses. Gasping, Harry felt himself thrown on his back as though struck in the chest by a mallet. The greatest concentration of it burned behind his heart like a flame, strong and flickering with new life. The magic then began spreading to his fingers and to his toes, tingling beneath the surface of his skin as though alight with electricity. The magic multiplied. It spread further, nudging and pressing and pushing against its own limits until they stretched to accommodate its growing power. His magical core swelled suddenly, and he gasped for air. The pressure squeezed around his lungs.

The magic crackled up his spine in pulsing electric currents toward his skull. His back arched and his limbs stretched outward, his fingers clawing at the floorboards but finding no purchase. The pressure now built behind the base of his skull, and Harry clenched his teeth hard - terrified that if he loosened his jaw he would either wake the house with his screaming, or bite his tongue off trying to keep himself from doing so. Heat exploded within his skull like firecrackers, and he sucked in a hiss of breath, whimpering through clenched teeth. Behind tightly closed eyelids he saw flashed of red until finally... his world went black.

~o~

 _"I have been thinking about you. In fact, I've been able to think of little else..."_

Groaning, he furrowed his brow and blinked his eyes open. His magic flashed warmly within his veins, as though greeting an old friend after an impossibly long separation. Somewhere overhead, his holly wand snapped loudly in two.

He rolled his head to the side and glimpsed the brightening dawn through his window. He lay there a moment, his mind blessedly blank. Tiny wisps of red and orange played across his face; the sun was rising. But then a terrible ache gripped his heart and squeezed tight, wringing a broken sob from deep within his suddenly burning throat. Lifting a hand over his eyes, he swallowed down another whimper as something far in the back of his mind unlocked itself and unleashed a flood of memories from another life. Images flashed behind his eyelids, painful red streaks tearing into him with glimpses of battle and blood and the distant echoing cries of mercy.

Then came another torrent of memories. They wracked his entire frame with guilt and lovelorn agony. His heart tightened painfully as he caught glimpses of snow-white hair, tanned skin that had been carved into with swirling tattoos of power, and woodland green eyes. The memories that surrounded these images were fringed with an aura of shadow. Somewhere in the background, he could recall conversations, heated debates that had never reached their conclusions or even a compromise. But there were also whispers in the dark of night. A reluctant exchange of secrets over the burn of alcohol and the sting of a stitching needle. grudging respect had been born of those nights, which had gradually given birth to a seed of affection - which in turn had grown and blossomed into a pure sort of love that had been wholly unexpected, but had been backed by passion and devotion.

 _"Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you..."_

Harry slowly sat up as the last of the memories settled again into the back of his mind, and he brought a hand over his mouth as his eyes spilled over with tears that left their scalding trails down the sides of his face. His heart was now racing, sickened with grief.

He started as a fist rapped loudly at his door. "Up!" Petunia's voice shrieked from the other side. "Get _up_!" And her heeled shoes clacked on the thin carpet as she made her way toward the stairs.

He ignored her. Wrapping his arms around his stomach, he dropped his head over his knees and weighed the pros and cons of ripping his heart out and storing it away forever. So much heartache and anguish... and the worst of it was knowing that no matter how desperately he wished otherwise, he could not run from it. Because it all his, it was all from a life forgotten and recovered again, and deep within his core he knew the blame was his as well.

Several minutes later, his chest still ached with each breath. He pushed shakily to his feet, accidentally stepping on his glasses and breaking them. It might have occurred to him that he hadn't needed them since he had awakened, if his mind was not otherwise occupied. He felt very wrong, standing in the center of his drab, lackluster room. The feeling of disconnection he had felt the night before returned, seeming to want to swallow him whole. He didn't believe himself strong enough to bear it a second time.

"Potter!" Vernon Dursley kicked open his door and stomped into the room. "Get your-"

He was not given the opportunity to finish. Harry lifted his head to glance wordlessly at his uncle, and magic responded, flaring out in a strong singular pulse that threw the dangerously obese man on his back in the hallway. His broken wand lay innocently atop his bedside table.

Ignoring Vernon's infuriated sputtering as the man fought against the hold such magic had over him, Harry turned his gaze upon the room as a whole and lifted his hand, curling his fingers into his palm in one fluid motion. His possessions gathered into his trunk, which locked itself tight before sliding across the floor to wait at his feet.

"Your Ministry will know of this!" Vernon barked with malicious glee, "You'll be kicked out of that freak school for sure this time!"

"I am legal," Harry calmly countered, only absently noticing the new silken inflection in his voice. "And no longer your concern." He then grabbed his trunk and spun on his heel, Disapparating from their lives forever.

~o~

He appeared within the outskirts of the small Irish city of Dublin. He held tight to his trunk as he weaved amongst the passersby on the streets, avoiding notice with a well-placed Disillusion charm until he found and entered an old wizarding pub reminiscent of London's Leaky Cauldron. Adjusting his bangs over his telltale scar, marveling distractedly that his hair seemed longer than it had been the night before, Harry approached the bar.

A middle-aged woman with graying auburn hair pulled up into a loose knot atop her head and years of laughter wrinkling the corners of her eyes set a mug before another patron and came over. "You look just a little young for ale, dearie. Here for breakfast, or would you like a room?" She amended, glancing at the trunk by his side.

He smiled gratefully. "A room, please."

She nodded, opening a large roster and grabbing a plain brown quill as she flicked through its pages. "We have rooms with and without baths, choices of single or double beds, and we accept advanced pay for up to six weeks. Any longer, and you would need to be signed in again. Meals are extra."

"Anonymity?" Harry requested softly, resisting a glance around for fear of bringing further attention to himself. Offering a small smirk, he added, "I promise I'm not up to anything sinister."

She gave a low feminine chuckle, nodding again. Closing her roster and flipping it over, she opened it again. Turning it around, she passed Harry her quill, its feathers now a darkened shade of red. "Sign here, dearie, and every employee will be magically bound to refer to you with your chosen pseudonym until you yourself cross it out upon leaving."

He knelt down and dug into his trunk for his bag of coins, paying the advance limit before signing something random into the roster. The woman pulled the large book back, returned the brown-again quill to its inkwell, and handed him a tagged key. Harry accepted it with a quietly muttered thanks, taking up his trunk once more and ascending an out-of-the-way staircase in search of his room. Once he found it, he locked the door behind him, dropped the key atop an end table, and then spent several minutes warding the room. He then tucked himself away in a corner, rested his head against a wall, and closed his eyes.

He cast his mind deep beyond the world of dreams...

~o~

 _Burning red eyes were the first sight to greet him._

 _He quickly backpedaled, lifting a hand set aglow with his magic to defend himself. But then he blinked and stared in horror at the bloodied mess lying before his feet, a tiny disfigured creature curled up on its side in a fetal position and staring back at Harry with bloodshot eyes. The creature was the first to look away, dropping its head to the ground with a pitiable whimper._

 _Harry slowly lowered his hand. "You are no spirit..." Sinking to his knee, he carefully touched his fingers to the creature's shoulder, drawing them away again when his mind was assaulted by a flash of images, memories that were not of either of his lifetimes. The creature hissed and cringed as though burned. Harry spat an ugly profanity under his breath, cursing the man responsible for keeping such secrets from him. So much he could have learned, understood, prepared for..._

 _Sighing, he touched the creature's chest, ignoring the flinch beneath his fingers. He lit his magic into his palm and passed it into the creature, cringing himself as the creature's high-pitched screams pierced his ears until they felt they would bleed. His magic shone, and from its bright green glow the creature's screams dwindled down into frightened whimpering. He let the magic die and drew his hand away._

 _Adorably big grey eyes blinked up at him under dark brown ringlets, filling instantly with tears. Sighing gently, Harry opened his arms. With a small cry, the child scrambled up and threw himself at the older mage, burying his face against Harry's chest. Harry hushed the boy, rocking and soothing the trembles from the child, even as he spared a moment to finally get a look at their surroundings._

 _Wisps of fog obscured his vision, but he could detect the faintest silhouettes of dead trees in the distance, as well as the shiest whispers of wandering memories. Yet the free and wild power of the realm itself was waning, its ancient secrets losing themselves to obscurity._

 _The Fade was not what it had used to be._

~o~

The sun had begun its descent into early evening, when Harry finally opened his eyes again. He hugged his chest tightly, trying to slow his breathing as his aching heart raced in continued despair. He had wandered for hours, searched faithfully... but the one thing he wished most desperately to reclaim, he most feared he might never find.

When he felt he could breathe again, he swiped the tears from his eyes and pushed to his feet. He then lifted his trunk atop the bed and rummaged for something decent to wear, letting himself into the adjoining bath for a shower.

He paused before the counter sink, finally getting a look of himself in the mirror. His hair had grown longer, feathery black strands that framed his face and spilled over his collar. His body was taller but still compact, with new strength in the sinews of his muscles. His complexion was fairer and alabaster smooth. His cheekbones were higher, his lips were fuller, and his eyes - his green, green eyes that had been so reminiscent of Lily Potter - were now a rich swirl of amber and caramel.

He knew he should have felt some greater sense of loss at that than he did, but it was a comfort to see his old eyes again.

Lifting a hand under his long bangs, he felt a smooth forehead for the first time in nearly two decades. He knew he had felt his telltale scar upon his arrival to Dublin. Before his visit to the Fade. Perhaps there was a connection.

Blinking, he leaned closer to the glass and turned his head. Something squeezed at his heart at the sight before him, even as he couldn't help the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It appeared the dormant-most blood of his ancestors had had more in common with the elves of old than he'd known. He lightly brushed a fingertip over the shell of his ear, his skin tingling sensitively around its new subtle tip. Shaking his head, he turned away from the mirror and shed his clothes for a shower.

Long minutes later, cleaned and wearing his best slacks and button-shirt, he glanced once more at his reflection. He was quickly growing fond of the new length and silkiness of his hair, but knew he would only become annoyed at having it hang in his face all the time. Conjuring a strand of his magic around his fingers, he pulled and gathered his hair together before tying his magic around the familiar halftail. He felt the magic solidify into a leather tie as he brought his hands down, and he surveyed his handiwork. His ears were exposed, and would probably invite curiosity he didn't want, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Fortunately, he looked so very unlike himself as Harry Potter that he didn't bother with a Glamour as he threw a nondescript cloak over his shoulders. Clasping it securely, he threw up the hood over his head and Apparated away.

~o~

Gringotts bank was eerily quiet, which suited him just fine as he crossed the large lobby hall. The goblins all ignored him as he passed, the rhythmic scratching of quills and pounding of stamps accompanying his footsteps as he approached the desk set higher than all the others.

This goblin did not ignore him, leaning over the edge of the desk to peer down at him, the goblin's customarily annoyed scowl vanishing into a blank stare upon discovering who it was to have interrupted his work. "Mister Potter," the goblin hissed, enunciating each syllable. His eyes flicked down over his cloaked form and back again; "Of course that aura would awaken in _you_."

"I take it you weren't expecting me, then," he commented around a small chuckle, ignoring the bite in the goblin's tone. He was unsurprised to have been recognized despite his new features; goblins were a notoriously clever race, not so easily fooled by awakening blood.

"Oh, we were expecting you," the goblin scoffed, turning away only long enough to jab a long gnarled finger into a buzzer. "When a wizard from a family as old as yours comes of age, we would be remiss if we did not expect a visit."

"And Gringotts is nothing if not efficient."

"Precisely," the goblin sneered as one of his fellow bankers sidled up to the desk. "Show Mister Potter to one of our conference rooms, and alert Grapple and Abrasion of his arrival."

The other goblin froze as though in shock, quickly stammering something in that garbled tongue of theirs, to which his employer hissed and shrieked impatiently until he was obeyed. Looking as close to chastised as Harry had ever seen a goblin get, the younger banker sharply waved at him to follow. Bemused, Harry allowed himself to be led through the building. They descended several flights of stairs into the older wings of the ancient wizard bank, at last coming to a stop before a thick chamber door.

The goblin growled and grunted, refusing Harry's offered help as he shoved the large door open, and then stood aside. The dip of his head as he nodded for Harry to wait inside could almost have been considered respectful. The door slammed heavily behind him.

Harry waited patiently, suspecting he would not be left alone for long. Goblins were very proficient, and untrusting. No human would be allowed the opportunity, however slight, to wander about their cavernous vaults of gold and ancient treasures. True to form, two such goblins announced their simultaneous arrival with a single resounding _crack_ , louder and more sudden than a house-elf's apparation. One looked vaguely familiar, and Harry realized he had glimpsed this one a few times in the past, even if he couldn't remember any direct contact. The other one was distinctively larger, with an ugly scar marring his left eye and sealing it shut; this larger goblin glared at Harry with his good eye, mouth twisted in a toothy snarl around a bit of strong-smelling driftwood.

"Mister Potter," the first goblin greeted stiffly, motioning for them all to sit at the table in the center of the room. "My name is Grapple; I am in charge of all accounts under your family name, and the solicitor in connection to your ancestral inheritances."

Harry nodded as he took a seat, turning his gaze. "I gather that leaves me with the obvious conclusion that you are the one called Abrasion?"

The larger goblin grunted, teeth grinding around his wood bit.

"Wait a moment," he added, turning back to Grapple. "Inheritances? Plural?"

"Indeed," the smaller goblin nodded, with a small smirk that let show the points of his teeth. He slapped a thick file down and opened it, extracting a large parchment and sliding it across the table. "This, Mister Potter, is your family tree, activated the moment your magic reached maturity and going back sixty generation to the first of your ancestors. As I'm sure you can discover for yourself, yours is a family which held no qualms about 'branching out,' as it were."

Harry felt his eyes widen as he looked it over, finding his own surname several times over, as well as his original name dangling on one of the most out-reaching branches depicting the tree's origins. He recognized the lesser known names - Brahms, Luke, Emmett, and DuVrai - as well as a few rather famous ones - Nicolai, Sitka, Blake... "Pendragon?" He read off, disbelieving. "Esmiril? Isn't that...?"

Grapple nodded, patiently handing him more sheafs of parchment. "These are legal proofs that trace your inheritance to Merlin, through both blood and Magic. And these," - he added a few more - "declare you the sole heir to three of Hogwarts' founders. Which, incidentally, names you the rightful owner of the school grounds and the castle itself."

Harry quirked a brow at the news, though given his recent personal history he supposed he couldn't claim to have been all that surprised. He studied the proofs carefully, bemused to find Salazar Slytherin listed with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. "I'll try to ignore the irony in that," he muttered, setting the proofs down again.

Grapple's eyes glinted in understanding amusement. "Old and powerful magic was poured into Hogwarts as it was created; it is a sentient castle, long asleep since the passing of its last true heir. It has awoken again with your magic, and will welcome you home." He conjured a quill and handed it to Harry. "Sign those at the bottom for proof of acknowledgment, if you will."

Harry rolled the quill between his fingers, "My current name, or...?"

The two goblins exchanged a brief glance, and the one called Abrasion finally spoke up in a low gravelly voice. "There is power in a name."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, letting his gaze sweep over each surname attached to his family tree and weighing the possibilities of each in his mind before moving to the next. _Potter_ was a powerful enough name on its own, even without his unconventional contribution. Some of his ancestors would only drown him in media and accusations of fraud were he to claim them too abruptly, while others were virtually unknown. If he was going to break free of Dumbledore and Voldemort, he needed a name mysterious enough to entice intrigue and notoriety, but strong enough to help him stand against rumors of scandal without giving him the appearance of needing something to hide behind...

He felt his lips tug in a sudden smirk, and he touched quill to parchment, missing the expression skating across the hardened surface of Abrasion's face before it was gone again. The documents all triplicated as they were signed; Grapple gathered them up, working quickly and efficiently as he stamped each with several official seals. The family tree shimmered in gold, as the name _Harry Potter_ was scrubbed cleanly away to be replaced forever by his new official name. A dozen keys materialized, as well as quite a few Muggle-friendly credit cards.

"As you may have become aware," Grapple spoke again, stacking a copy of each document beside the vault keys and tucking the rest back into his file folder, "your admittedly impressive family tree declares you a singularly valued client. A near-third of our oldest vaults are filled with several generations' worth of heirlooms, including gold and priceless artifacts, inherited now by you and you alone. You have become a very wealthy wizard, by all means, and of blood from nobility the like of which had not seen an equal in over four hundred years."

Shocked to the point of humility, he cleared his throat. "I'll do my best to behave accordingly."

Chuckling, the goblin gathered the leftover copies, the vault keys, and the bank-issued credit cards into another file folder and sealed it shut. He set that down in front of the young lord; "For your personal records. We recommend that you keep them locked away in a manner akin to obsession when not in use. Good evening." And with that, Grapple left the meeting room.

Abrasion had stayed behind.

The newly resurrected mage matched gazes with the larger scarred goblin for a long minute, waiting for the other to speak. However, when the goblin simply glanced pointedly at the door over the other's shoulder, he understood. With a flick of his index finger, the door was impenetrable and charmed soundproof, and the room itself was warded against apparation.

Approval glinting briefly across the surface of his good eye, Abrasion suddenly let the tension ease from his shoulders and relaxed his jaw around the bit in his mouth. "In another life," he spoke slowly and clearly, his voice a roughened tenor resembling nothing like the gruff growl it had held before, "legends weren't scribed into texts to be hidden away in libraries and mausoleums. They were born through word-of-mouth, told before cheerily burning hearths in dank, pungent taverns where they grew ever more ridiculous and unbelievable with each retelling."

The air seemed to have abruptly escaped his lungs for several seconds. When he was finally able to swallow enough breath to speak again, it was in a small stammering whisper of incredulity. " _Varric...?_ "

An achingly familiar chuckle shook the other's shoulders, before he lifted his hand to touch a previously-unnoticeable talisman dangling from his neck. His form shimmered as the Glamour fell away, and in the goblin's place sat a dwarf he had never thought to see again. Auburn hair whitened near his temples, skin weathered over... but those eyes were still the same, alight with humor and a love for embellishing details for the sake of a good story. "Been a while since I last heard that name."


	2. Claim

**Title:** The Lyrium Ghost

 **By:** Aina Song

 **Fandom(s):** Harry Potter/ Dragon Age II

 **Genre:** Yaoi

 **Rating:** PG-15

 **Warning(s):** Crossover; AU; OOC; Language; Excess Blood; Mentions of Character Death; Flashback(s) to Death Scene; DA2 Direct Quotes and Spoilers.

 **Pairing(s):** Anders/Harry x Fenris

 **Reviews:** Yes, please!

 **Author's Note:** Standard Disclaimer. This story was not written for money. _Italics_ = thought, messages, the Fade.

 **Teaser:** When Harry's magic unlocks a lifetime of hidden memories, he decides to take matters into his own hands to settle a number of wrongs – both recent, and long-ago.

 **Chapter Two - Claim**

"I like the new face," the dwarf chuckled. "Though it's far too intelligent for that dumbfounded look you're giving me right now. Cute ears."

The mage clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head in attempt to come to terms with the impossible sight before him. "But I don't understand. How...?"

The dwarf gave a heavy sigh. "After... your story's end, there was a mad rush for action. You started something - for good or ill, it seemed - and lit a fire in mages and templars all over the world. Hawke was powerless to do anything but respond. But after Meredith had revealed her hand and... well... Hawke decided to take up your cause and lead the fight for freedom for mages everywhere."

He dropped back in his chair, his dignified facade crumbling as his mind whirled with the revelation. The guilt he had nearly succeeded in pocketing away in the back of his mind resurfaced with a vengeance. His head fell forward into his hands, and he couldn't swallow down a small inescapable whimper.

"Listen," Varric's rough whisper reached his ears. "I can't pretend to know what must be going through your head right now, but I might hazard a guess. And after all this time, I can only offer two tidbits of advice. The first is that I never knew you to waver in your past life, even when all the odds were stacked against you. You have all the knowledge and power you used to have, plus a fair bit more from what I hear of your more recent incarnation. Doors that might've been locked before certainly wouldn't stand a chance against you now." There was a brief pause, before he added, "And secondly... Would you want him to blame himself, if you had been in his place?"

The new lordling looked up sharply, a fierce look in his eyes, and hissed, "That's different!"

But Varric only stared calmly back at him. "How?"

Leaping to his feet, he slammed his fists on the table. "He deserved better than that!"

"And you didn't?" The dwarf shook his head, "Blondie... Do you even know what you did? Look at the world you live in now; a world of free mages, with no Circles or Chantry Order, no templars. This is exactly what you dreamed of, remember?"

He collapsed to his chair and buried his face again in his hands, digging his fingers into his hair and gripping several dark strands loose of his halftail. Eventually, reluctantly, he nodded.

"I did hear mention of this Dark Lord, however. The one killing non-magic people and those who would defend them, for some twisted cause, what was it - blood supremacy, I believe. Can't help but be reminded of the old days, myself. History has a nasty habit of repeating itself for its own ironic sense of humor." Varric's voice paused for a moment, before speaking again with a thick hint of gruff emotion. "I've heard what people are expecting of your newest incarnation, Blondie. If you need backup, you got it."

"Thank you, but no," he muttered dully from behind his hands. "Voldemort is using blood magic mixed with entropy. It's not unfamiliar to me. And don't call me that," he added as an afterthought.

"Why not? You're still _you_ , aren't you? Though I must admit, I barely held back from reacting to the irony of the name you chose for yourself this time around."

He finally looked up, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch just a little. Shaking his head, he heaved a great sigh. "What am I to do, Varric? It's been so long, and the Fade is a shadow of what it used to be. I don't recognize it, anymore."

"Tried to look for him already, did you?" The dwarf nodded as though to confirm a thought or two, then stood and came around the table. He reached into a pocket and withdrew a keychain of random trinkets of silver and pewter. Sifting through them with his thumb, he separated one from the rest and held it out. "Grab hold."

The mage glanced at the trinket and its fellows in his friend's hand. "Portkeys?"

Varric chuckled. "Most of the older goblins know who I really am; they put these together to help me pop about like they do. And this one," he added, holding up the pewter raven carving he had selected, "takes me to one of those vaults Grapple was telling you about."

Quickly shaking his head, he tried to back down; "I'm really not ready to confront my _many_ inheritances, Varric."

"That's fine," the dwarf agreed. "We only need to look at one." And before the young lord could say another word, Varric shoved the file folder into his hands and snatched his wrist, activating the Portkey and sweeping them out of the room.

He closed his eyes as he felt that familiar lurch behind his navel, and when he opened them again they stood before a vault door heavily adorned with locks and thick slabs of metal bolting it shut. Varric watched as the mage shuffled through his file folder in search of his vault keys, nodding when he held up the right one. He stuck the key into the door and gave it a turn. Several mechanisms snapped and whirred, the bolts grinding noisily out of the way, and the door grated against the floor as it swung open.

Countless treasures were revealed - priceless portraits, fine fabrics and sparkling jewels, gold and other monies accumulated over the centuries. Lining the entire span of one wall stood an impressive collection of ancient tomes and rolled parchments gathered into a shelved case with glass windows. None of these escaped his notice, but the lordling's attention was locked upon the center of the vault. Standing in the midst of those ancient valuables, in the place of honor, were an armor stand displaying his own black robes which he'd worn unto his previous death; his stave, chipped and cracked and resting against the shoulder of the armor stand as though a weapon at rest after a time of endless war... and a covered casket.

His heart found sudden lodging in his throat. He clutched a hand to his head, fingers digging into his hair as he fought to breathe.

"Carved it, myself," Varric's voice spoke in a gruff whisper. The dwarf stepped forward and lifted a hand to the dark canvas blanketing the casket.

"Don't!" He tried to choke out.

But it was too late. With a sharp tug, the canvas fell soundlessly to the floor. The newly reawakened mage's ribs seemed to squeeze in around his lungs as he stared at the intricate dwarven runes carved along the sides of the casket and the natural swirls within its glass covering. His entire body ached with the loss and longing; his hand fell away from his hair as he slowly pushed one foot before the other. As he drew nearer the casket, the swirls in the lid seemed to draw apart like the breaking away of wispy clouds as they sank into the edges of the glass.

His heart stopped completely; but then began to race and pound until he truly worried it might punch a hole through his chest and escape. Tears flooded his eyes as he stared at the still form lying under the glass, as though in simple slumber. There were no flecks of debris in the familiar tuft of snow-white hair; no burns charring the tips of those delicately pointed ears; no dirt, blood, or sweat staining that sinuously lithe, lyrium-embedded skin...

 _"I remember your touch as if it were yesterday..."_

His breath stuck in his throat at the murmured ardor, hearing that voice as though it truly whispered again in his ear, as it had so long ago. "Varric... how?"

"Justice."

He turned to the dwarf with a sharp look. "What?"

Varric calmly held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Your spirit friend wasn't as immediately ejected as you'd thought. And after witnessing the way your story ended, he'd had a burst of clarity or some such, and decided vengeance couldn't hold a candle to just exactly how much he felt he owed you."

"Owed me?"

He nodded, "While Hawke led the fight against Meredith, Justice, eh... _borrowed_ your body long enough to sneak your elf deep into Kirkwall's undercity. Ravaini and I led the way to one of the lesser-known docks, where we stole a ship and escaped the city altogether. Soon as we were surrounded by ocean, Justice gave me a long list of instructions, granted me a 'gift' to ensure I'd have enough time to cross it out, and made me swear to watch over your elf. Then he glowed blue, bright enough to nearly blind us, and when we opened our eyes again your body was lying on the deck."

The mage tipped his brow against the glass and closed his eyes. Such deep gratitude swelled in his chest that he felt nearly overwhelmed by it. He understood what had happened; he knew the tremendous gift his old friend had bestowed and believed himself to be monumentally undeserving. Opening his eyes, he gazed through the glass, still trying to absorb the miracle before him. Though his heart was still heavy with guilt and the pain of a long-ago past, the sight of the tattooed elf - perfectly preserved, unravaged by time - was enough to lift some of the ache from his chest.

"I'm assuming you'll want to wake him," Varric spoke again. Hearing the dwarf's scuffling footsteps, the lordling looked up to watch as Varric unlocked the glass doors of the case in the corner. He ran his fingers over the spines of the tomes and plucked one from its shelf. "Here," he said, handing the book over. "I'd eventually gotten around to setting pen to paper to Hawke's story. Figure you'd want to catch up on things you'd missed, see how your friends fared. In the back is a detailed account of everything I'd just told you about Justice's favor, as well as what you'll need to wake your own Sleeping Beauty there."

"Is there any blood magic involved?"

"Not a drop," Varric assured as the mage began leafing through the pages. "Far as I can tell, all you'll need is his soul, some remnant from an undying creature, and enough power to call down a miracle."

" _Soul_ magic...?"

"You can do it, can't you, Blondie?" The dwarf rubbed at the back of his head, "I mean... You're _you_. Just, you know, with a bit more oomph. Your glowing blue buddy wouldn't have gone through all the trouble if it couldn't be done... Right?"

~o~

He visited Gringotts every day for two weeks. Grapple assisted him in securing his claim over the countless inheritances awarded him. He signed papers; he took back Grimmauld Place and Godric's Hollow, and looked into several other properties now belonging to him. Under Grapple's advisement, he also launched a covert investigation against Albus Dumbledore's claim as his magical guardian since his introduction into the magical world. Such knowledge had been withheld from him as a minor, and the young lord really felt he ought to learn why. Varric - under his guise as 'Abrasion' - did what he did best and took steps to ensure a whispered rumor floated about the wizarding world of the return of Hogwarts' true heir, at the same time regaling the mage with tales of the past centuries through his own unique perspective.

After Gringotts, he would roam the twists and turns of Diagon Alley. Cloaked with his hood thrown over his head, the reincarnated mage was a frequent visitor of the book stores and made ample use of the apothecaries. He sent his measurements to a wardrobe shop hidden in magical Dublin with an order for new robes and other wizarding attire. He decided against purchasing a new wand, even for the sake of appearances. He possessed far too much power now to be channeled safely through such a small conduit.

When his room rental within Dublin's wizarding pub eventually reached its expiration, the young mage waved off signing for an extension. He repacked what few possessions he had removed from his trunk and Apparated to Grimmauld Place. Immediately upon his entry, the Fidelius Charm wrapped around him and held him frozen in place, not recognizing his signature of his ancient magic. Further along the entryway, a tapestry flew open with no small amount of dust, revealing a large gild-framed portrait. Its depths illuminated, and the painted likeness of Wilburga Black began shrieking and shrilling at the top of her lungs about bad-blooded intruders within the sanctity of her home.

Growing more than a little impatient and irritated, the young lord flared his magic and threw off the binds of the Fidelius. The force of his resistance shattered windows, splintered support beams, and brought the entire house quivering and groaning with the strain of remaining whole. The painted image of Wilburga Black screamed anew, but for a wholly different reason than before. The mage pulled his magic back in and straightened his jacket as the splinters and glass fell noisily around him, then stepped forward and stood before Mistress Black's portrait.

The woman looked ready to start up again with her usual uproar; he immediately lifted his hand and swiped his first two fingers through the air. The portrait's frame chipped and cracked and looked dangerously ready to fall apart. Wilburga let out a small squeak and clamped her mouth shut, staring at him in terror.

He narrowed his eyes. "I will not have you vomiting such disrespectful swill in my presence. The Ancient and Noble House of Black has been tainted enough, without your disgusting behavior."

"Who are you?" he asked, her voice small and meek when not raised in spiteful prejudice.

"I am the new lord of the House of Black," he revealed without hesitation. "And as such, I will not tolerate your screaming and heretic attitude toward the good people that may walk through these doors. Nothing can befoul this House worse than an unfit mother who brazenly chose one good son over the other. Let me make it clear to you, as your lord I may erase names off that tapestry upstairs, and I will start with yours."

"You can't-"

"I, what," he cut across her words, lifting his hand again with a not-so-subtle pulse of magic.

She flinched, closing her mouth again and cowering a little toward the edge of her canvas.

He dropped his hand and continued as though uninterrupted. "You were a Lady of this House, and will behave accordingly. You will be respectable and dignified, and will speak with poise and courtesy to those I allow to enter these halls. If you cannot bring yourself to do so, then I suggest you simply _be silent_ , or I will find very creative ways to remove you from that wall, am I clear?"

Wilburga nodded. "Y-yes, my lord."

"Kreacher!"

There was a loud and resounding _crack_ as the house elf appeared. The small creature was old and paper-thin, bones easily detectable in twig-like arms and legs, and was garbed in a grimy grain sack for lack of proper clothes. Before the elf could spit his usual filth and effrontery under his breath, the mage lord flared his magic again. The house elf collapsed to his knees and grabbed his head, moaning pitiably under the gravitational force weighing him down. After a long minute, the mage relented. Kreacher immediately brought his bony hands to his mouth and sobbed. "A Mage Lord in the Ancient House of Black! A scion of the Black City!" He lifted large pale eyes overflowing with tears to stare up at his new master; "Kreacher will serve! He is unworthy and filthy, but Kreacher will serve the new Lord Black, he will, he will!" And the poor thing started bawling again.

He took pity on the elf, if only for the sake of another closer to his heart. Sighing, he sank to his knee and taped his fingers to Kreacher's forehead. The aged house elf quieted instantly, and with a few gulping breaths began at last to calm down. When he brought his hand away, Kreacher was staring at him with enough adoration to make the young lord slightly uncomfortable. "What does new Mage Lord ask of Kreacher?" He wondered, with far more composure than when he had appeared.

"First and foremost," his new master began, looking the small being over once more, "you will make personal hygiene a priority. I will not tolerate you neglecting your health and cleanliness, not if you wish to continue serving me. Secondly, you will no longer consider yourself a slave of the House of Black. You will serve for as long as your are willing, and will receive privileges as reward for that service. Do you understand?"

Kreacher blinked owlishly. "N-not be a slave...?"

"Never again," he swore vehemently.

"But Kreacher still serve?"

"Exactly."

The elf appeared uncertain precisely how he felt about this. Then, seeming to brace himself, he bravely declared, "Kreacher doesn't want payment. Payment disgraces house elf."

"Very well, but privileges to be rewarded or removed depending upon your behavior will not be negotiated."

Kreacher nodded stoically. That much did not offend his race's laws.

"But before anything else," he commanded, straightening again to his full height, "there is something very dark and dangerous in this house, something that does not belong."

Kreacher's eyes grew impossibly wide and hopeful.

"Bring it to me, at once. Afterward, you will clean yourself up. Wash and sanitize anything in your possession, and then you may decide how best to start repairing this home."

Nodding again, the elf bowed and _cracked_ out of view.

Turning, the new lord ignored Lady Black's flinch as he looked over her damaged frame. He lifted a hand and flicked his wrist; Wilburga gasped as her frame was repaired, cracks coming together seamlessly, tarnish peeling back and falling to the floor, the dust and grime fading from her canvas. Lifting a brow in silent challenge, he regarded her coolly for another minute before curling his fingers suddenly into a closed fist. The damage he had wrought upon the entryway reversed itself, broken glass and splintered beams flying upward and restoring themselves to their proper and uncompromised places. He then bowed low to Lady Black's portrait, mocking her with the show of false respect, and left to find and claim his late godfather's bedroom.

~o~

He gripped Regulus Black's locket in his fist - a locket originally belonging to Salazar Slytherin - and let himself drift into the Fade...

 _The child whimpered in fear and curled in closer against his side. The young mage ran his fingers patiently through the boy's curls before gently setting the child apart from himself. Pure grey eyes blinked up at him, perpetually sad and fearful. He pulled his arms around himself, pantomiming a self-hug; the boy nodded solemnly, hugging himself tight._

 _He stood and turned, staring down a quivering mass of smoke and black goo. Taking a breath, he moved closer and plunged his hands into the steaming tar-like substance. He set his magic aglow, blinking quickly to adjust his eyes to the brightness. The tar fell away, confirming his suspicion of something more beneath. When his magic faded, a deep breath moved the shoulders beneath his hands; he adjusted his grip, steadying the form trying to straighten to its feet before him._

 _At last he lowered his hands, carefully looking the other man over. Quavering hands pushed dark curls from dark shock-filled eyes and then moved shakily to straighten a frayed suit jacket. Another, slower, deep breath; grey eyes glanced beyond the mage lord's shoulder them met with amber. "Please," a soft, refined voice whispered. "Let me go to him..."_

 _Regarding this new shard for a long moment, the mage lord stood aside._

 _The man raced passed him and collapsed before the boy, quickly pulling the child into his arms. The reincarnated lordling remained throughout the night, watching over the two as they wept for one another._

~o~

Grimmauld Place had been completely renovated by the first of September, as well as Godric's Hollow. Both were Glamoured to appear as rundown on the outside as ever, and were strongly warded against attack or invasion. The Hollow had been refurbished to accommodate his personal tastes; many of the old treasures in his vaults - the tomes and scrolls, and other such antiques - could be found in various corners or lining the walls of random rooms. Within Grimmauld Place, Wilburga Black's attitude had improved greatly, with only a few _cutting_ reminders to keep her in line. She could be quite the gracious noblewoman, when not casting the whole of the wizarding world below her ridiculous standards.

He took his time getting ready, having purposely missed the Hogwarts train hours before. He dressed in black, his jacket and boots made of cured dragon hide. Throwing on an open stone-grey robe, he belted it at the waist. "Kreacher," he spoke as he tugged on a pair of leather gloves. "Defend the House of Black until my return."

The house elf nodded at his side, now wearing a starched black sheet like toga with a silver pin at his shoulder.

"And don't let Wilburga act up in my absence, do you understand?"

"Kreacher will threaten her canvas."

He allowed himself a small smirk at the elf's promise. From the moment Regulus' locket had been returned, cleansed and whole, Kreacher's loyalty had been ripped from the former Black matriarch and given to his new master without reservation. It was particularly entertaining to know it incensed the woman to no end. "I give you free use of your magic to protect this house. But alert me immediately if there are any attempts to breach my wards that you cannot fight off."

The house elf nodded again, "Yes, Mage Lord."

Satisfied, he carded his fingers through his hair, which he had left loose of its usual halftail, then spun in place and Apparated away. He had another piece of his heritage to claim.


	3. Challenge

**Title:** The Lyrium Ghost

 **By:** Aina Song

 **Fandom(s):** Harry Potter/ Dragon Age II

 **Genre:** Yaoi

 **Rating:** PG-15

 **Warning(s):** Crossover; AU; OOC; Language; Excess Blood; Mentions of Character Death; Flashback(s) to Death Scene; DA2 Direct Quotes and Spoilers.

 **Pairing(s):** Anders/Harry x Fenris

 **Reviews:** Yes, please!

 **Author's Note:** Standard Disclaimer. This story was not written for money. _Italics_ = thought, messages, the Fade.

 **Teaser:** When Harry's magic unlocks a lifetime of hidden memories, he decides to take matters into his own hands to settle a number of wrongs – both recent, and long-ago.

 **Chapter Three - Challenge**

Hogwarts Castle accepted his sudden appearance upon its grounds easily. Its wards wrapped around him warmly, as though welcoming a long-lost brother. He felt a small smile tug at his lips; he spread his arms wide, releasing a soft pulse of his magic and letting it play along the wards' ancient invisible currents. Hogwarts had always been a sort of sanctuary for him before; in his previous life he'd had his clinic, hidden deep in the underbelly of a city laden with mage-hunters. But it was not until now that he understood what it truly was to come home again.

And there was only one soul he wished to share it with.

Lowering his arms, he turned around just as he was joined by the goblin Grapple and Varric, guised once again as the stoic Abrasion. He greeted them both with a small bow, to which Grapple smirked and Varric offered an extravagant bow of his own.

"On with the show, messere?"

He chuckled softly, "Yes."

"You will be met with much resistance, Mage Lord," Grapple gruffly warned. "It would be ridiculously optimistic to hope to settle this in a single evening. We will offer what assistance we can, but you must be prepared to defend yourself against the like of Albus Dumbledore and those who would support him."

"I know," he agreed. "Thank you."

He straightened his spine and turned back toward the castle. As they crossed the grounds, the wards embraced him, tendrils clinging to him with each step as he moved. He was immersed in the castle's magic, as though walking along the bed of an ocean. He could feel it pass over his skin, naturally displacing its own flow to make room for him; he breathed it in with every breath and felt its energy prickle quietly within the walls of his lungs.

Hogwarts opened its doors to them as he approached, bringing yet another smile to tug at the corner of his lips. Torches and candelabras flared brighter as he led his companions through; portraits lost their tarnish, and House banners shone their colors with new pride. The doors to the Great Hall threw themselves open for them, loudly interrupting the start-of-term banquet. Conversations stalled and died down, and every pair of eyes turned in their direction and stared, some students standing to see over the heads of their Housemates. At the Head table, all the professors stared. As did the Headmaster.

The new lord could just catch Varric's quiet snicker at his side, himself nearly smirking in personal triumph as they calmly strode forth between the two center tables. Hogwarts' magic swirled around them, causing his open robes to billow with each step and his hair to play wildly about his face. Candelabras and floating candles sparked and sputtered, and the enchanted ceiling overhead displayed powerful storm clouds even though the night skies outside the castle were clear. The clouds clashed and thundered at each other, flashing with pent-up energy that seemed very eager indeed to escape.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, throwing his hand up toward the ceiling. When its enchantments did not claim at his bidding, he drew his wand from his robes and tried again. Thunder clapped, and a shard of light struck threateningly close to the old man, ripping quite a few screams from students and professors alike. Seeming to accept his efforts as futile, Dumbledore lowered his wand and turned to the three standing before the Head table.

The resurrected mage arched a single eyebrow, returning the Headmaster's gaze boldly. He did not fear Dumbledore's Legilimency; his mind had long recovered the strength of barriers forged of a lifetime of protecting himself from the demons of the Fade. He threw off the old wizard's attempt to breach his mind as casually as brushing dust from his shoulder.

Albus Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle. "Who are you?"

"My name is Era'harel **(1)** Anderfel," the young mage answered, his voice ringing clearly in the suddenly silent Great Hall. "I am descended from three of the four Founders of Hogwarts herself."

Several gasps were let out at his declaration. The twinkle had yet to return to Dumbledore's eyes. "Perhaps we had better speak in private. If you would accompany me to my office...?"

"No."

The students behind them murmured curiously.

The Headmaster, who had been about to lead the way away from so many eager ears and witnessing eyes, paused and turned back. "No?"

Grapple and Varric stepped forward to either side of 'Harel, a steadfast guard in his defense. "Gringotts can, will, and does attest to this man's claim," Grapple spoke up. "He is Mage Lord Anderfel, descended from Magic itself, and will be granted what rightly belongs to him."

"Your invitation is an attempt to dispute my claim and gain control, when it is clear you have none." 'Harel looked up to the ceiling, which quieted and calmed instantly, the clouds breaking away to allow an uninterrupted view of the stars; some few candlesticks drifted closer and illuminated the dark-haired mage. Amidst awe-stricken stares and wonder-filled whispers, 'Harel avowed, "Hogwarts herself recognizes her heir."

Each professor turned as one to their Headmaster. Dumbledore slowly reclaimed his seat. He drummed his fingers upon the table, his other hand smoothing his beard below his chin. Both were tells, clear as crystal for Era'harel: Albus Dumbledore was suddenly on the board with no ready counter-move.

To his left, Minerva McGonagall rose to her feet, unwittingly offering herself up as her employer's first pawn. "Young man, what right do you have to make such a claim?"

"We are here," Grapple intoned, his gravelly voice sounding annoyed for having to repeat himself. "Gringotts has in our possession documents verifying the Mage Lord Anderfel as such, a few of which we are willing to provide for perusal by selected individuals. They are authentic and certified, and protected against falsification."

"Mage Lord?" Dumbledore wondered.

"It is a title rightfully claimed by very few. This young man's magic is purer than most, his blood is ancient. Gringotts honors his unadulterated status."

McGonagall bristled, "Isn't he a little young to be burdened by such?"

Varric coughed suddenly, a grunt of noise that drew attention upon itself. 'Harel's mouth twitched in a small smirk, knowing his old friend well enough to have detected the laugh before it was covered up.

Grapple shared in their humor, if the slight hiss beneath his next words were indication enough. "I assure you, Gringotts is quite comfortable with his age."

"I do wonder at his name," Dumbledore spoke again. "It is... unfamiliar, to me."

"And I do not recognize him as a former student," McGonagall huffed.

But then a much younger voice rang crisp and clear behind them; "I know your name."

Blinking, 'Harel turned around. He watched as every head turned toward the Slytherin table. Each of Salazar's students was staring at their peer in shock. But Draco Malfoy stood defiant near the head of the table, close enough that his slate-grey eyes were hard as flint as he dared speak up. "Every pureblood versed in the study of magical origins knows the name _Anderfel_."

The young mage glanced at Varric, catching his friend's eye. The Glamoured dwarf gave a short, nearly imperceptible nod.

"Of course _your_ family would support him!" Ronald Weasley immediately alleged from across the Great Hall, jumping to his feet as well. "We all know you slimy snakes follow You-Know-Who! That man is a monster, and who do you think he got it from?"

Some few Slytherins leapt to their own feet, ready to defend themselves and their House. But the ceiling came alive with another booming thunderstorm, with crackling flashes of lightning which brought quite a few screams from the student populace. Even Weasley was cowed back into his seat. Malfoy, curiously enough, was not. He remained standing, observing the ceiling's activities with something akin to respect.

When Hogwarts finally calmed once more, Dumbledore tried again to appear as though he still held some semblance of control. "Now, now, let us not behave so in front of our guests. Mister Weasley. Would you kindly elaborate?"

'Harel watched as Malfoy stiffened at the indignity of being ignored, when it was he who had spoken up in the first place. Contrarily, Weasley sat straighter in his seat. "Murder, sir. In ancient history, there was a man named Anderfel who destroyed a religious building and killed nearly fifty people, provoking fear and hatred of wizard-kind everywhere."

"That's a lie!" Malfoy protested hotly. "Anderfel sacrificed his happiness and his life, so that those born of magic might escape persecution."

"He started a war!"

"Corypheus started that war," Neville Longbottom contradicted, slowly standing. "He ripped the skies open. It was only thanks to Anderfel that our kind were rallied to fight and survive while a sanctioned faction drove the Elder One back and healed the skies."

Weasley glared up at his fellow Gryffindor as though betrayed. "Then why are we hiding now? If we're so free, why don't we all just mingle with the Muggles and let the world see us for who we are?"

"Because families like yours," Malfoy replied with cool distaste, "concentrated on the trials and lot sight of the reward. You gave in to your fear. You saw the wrath of the few and forgot that we were many. And over the centuries, with each generation, more and more of our kind tossed themselves back into hiding and utterly abandoned the gift that Anderfel tried to bestow us."

Dumbledore invited himself into their debate. "Mister Malfoy, the actions and ideals you describe sound remarkably similar to those of Lord Voldemort."

The blond visibly flinched, staring at their Headmaster. Ron Weasley looked ready to crow in triumph.

'Harel had had enough. He flared his magic; students and professors alike screamed and bemoaned their punishment as the force of his power crushed down upon them like a gravitational tug toward the core of the earth. Malfoy and Longbottom turned wide eyes upon him, untouched and unencumbered by the mage lord's magic. 'Harel gave Longbottom a subtle nod of acknowledgment, but beckoned the Slytherin prince closer.

Draco Malfoy drew away from his Housemates without a thought, approaching the Head table and rendering all speechless with shock as he forewent his pureblood superiority and sank to his knee before the mage lord. Era'harel set his hand to the blond's shoulder, and the weight of his magic lifted from the Great Hall. As the students and professors picked themselves up from the floor or sat straighter in their seats, they wondered at the streams of moonlight pouring over the mage lord as though the castle itself was caressing him in its ethereal glow.

'Harel gave the young Malfoy heir a small smile; he lifted his gaze in a narrowed glare toward the Headmaster, his voice carrying easily throughout the Great Hall. "I am disgusted by the lack of historical education in this castle. In the days of its Founders, those born of magic were strong and powerful, and were taught to defend themselves and those around them. They were taught the lessons of the past, and were cautioned of their paths into the future. What, now, do these children learn under your misbegotten leadership? Turning hedgehogs into pincushions, perhaps?"

"How dare you!" McGonagall declared, leaping to her feet again. "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of the world-!"

"Prejudice," he interrupted her tirade. " _Merlin_ was one of the most powerful mages in the world. As were Blake, le Fey, Brahms..."

"Quite the lineage, Blondie," Varric whispered in an aside. Grapple's mouth very nearly twitched upward.

"Your most recent history keepers are biased and blinded by money or fear." The lordling turned patient eyes upon the Malfoy heir before him and urged him to his feet, gently clasping the blond's shoulder. "It is _Magic_ that recognizes her most promising children, and Magic alone that decrees their potential."

" _M-Malfoy?!_ " Weasley sputtered. "You think that arrogant, spineless _ferret_ has po-" His words were cut off with a series of rather annoying squeaks and squeals, and all stared at the russet-furred weasel racing out of the Great Hall.

" _Transfiguration on a student!_ " McGonagall screeched. (The Mage Lord silently bemoaned his sensitive ears.) "Highly improper, and against Hogwarts regulations! You will return Mister Weasley to his original form at -" She broke off with a strangled gasp, her hands flying to her throat.

"I do not answer to you," 'Harel coolly stated, the amber of his eyes having lost their warmth. "Nor will I bow under your whim." He shifted his gaze once more to the Albus Dumbledore. "Hogwarts shall see many changes upon my return."

A large resounding _crack_ thundered within the Great Hall, and with that the mage lord and goblins had vanished, stealing the Malfoy heir with them.

~o~

Era'harel steadied young Malfoy as the blond stumbled upon arrival, his mouth tugging in a small smirk as he heard Varric chuckling nearby.

"I shall take my leave and begin preparations," Grapple announced. "Good evening, Lord Anderfel."

"Good evening, Grapple, and thank you," he replied, drawing away from his new guest to grip the goblin's shoulder. "May your vaults never empty."

"And may your treasures flourish," the goblin returned, gripping as far up 'Harel's arm as he could reach in kind. In the next instant, he had Apparated away.

A soft intake of breath recaptured 'Harel's attention, and he turned to find Draco Malfoy staring at their surroundings. They were standing in the entrance hall of Golden Hall, one of his ancestors' long-lost manors, which had taken some time to restore. He was particularly fond of this one, which was now wide and spacious, the exposed beams in the walls and ceiling strengthened and gleaming in the subtle candlelight with new dark tarnish. The walls were washed and painted over in a golden brown glaze; the floor was planked with polished redwood. A single tapestry hung on the farthest wall, set softly aglow by the surrounding candles.

'Harel allowed himself a moment to appreciate the changes he had overseen, before returning his attention to his impromptu guest - who was now gazing at him with something akin to awe. The mage lord quirked his brow in amusement at the irony. "Yes?"

Malfoy blinked apparently realizing he had been staring, and adopted a somewhat abashed expression. "You're not truly _descended_ from Anderfel, are you."

"And what makes you say that?"

"Because Anderfel had no descendants. He couldn't have."

Sharing a glance with Varric, who was leaning against the wall with one ankle crossed over the other, looking very comfortably like his true self despite the Glamour, 'Harel carefully reasoned, "The Anderfel you speak of wasn't exactly known to have been celibate."

"But he _was_ known to have suffered," Malfoy countered, quietly. "I say again... He may have had kin, but there were no direct descendants."

A dark shadow flitted within the back of his memory; the reincarnated mage drew a slow breath and let it out again. He had read Varric's book. He had known his history had been recorded, and eventually shared among those left of their companions who had still cared; had even prepared for the possibility of it being remembered.

He had _not_ realized that would have included his... origins, which the dwarf had given the barest of mentions in respect of his privacy.

"What do you know of magical inheritances?" 'Harel finally spoke again.

Malfoy responded automatically, a possible result of genes and long tutelage. "Upon the age of maturity, the magic in one's blood is activated and unleashed upon the recipient. Such an occurrence includes a rise or stabilization in one's strength in power, and/or the awakening of formerly dormant blood from magical creatures in one's ancestry."

He quirked an amused brow. Elf ears. "Have _you_ creature blood?"

The blond aristocratic heir glanced aside, clearing his throat. "My family is descended from the Veela. I have the blood, but not the fever." Upon receiving a curious tilt of 'Harel's head, he elaborated, "My blood didn't boil when I came into my maturity. It means I shall not find a mate. The best I can hope for is to marry for ambition."

"My condolences," the mage lord offered sincerely. "Though ambition can be a strong quality in a mage, when given guidance and opportunity."

"Thank you," Malfoy quietly accepted. He paused, "But you didn't answer my question."

A corner of Era'harel's mouth quirked up just a little. "Haven't I?"

"No, you-" He broke off, blinking rapidly, a look of sudden comprehension filling his slate-grey eyes. His next breath caught quite audibly in his throat, and the blond stumbled back a step in his shock.

"A quick mind," Varric observed, chuckling. "Though you may have broken the boy, Blondie."

"Think I should give him a moment to breathe before the next one?" The young mage lord responded easily.

Malfoy looked from one to the other, his breathing seeming just a tad uneven. "W-what did he call you?"

This cracked the last of Varric's control, and the Glamoured dwarf let out a great thundering laugh.

"He gives everyone a nickname," Era'harel explained. "Stick around long enough and get him to like you, and you might earn one as well." He turned a sardonic grin toward his old friend. "Even his crossbow was blessed with a name."

"Bianca," Varric practically crooned. "A woman after my own heart."

Malfoy watched, his stunned expression slowly giving to bemused interest, as the mysterious mage lord leaned his back to the wall beside the stout goblin. "I seem to recall you had a particular fondness for Hawke's sister as well," 'Harel countered.

"Sunshine?" Varric smirked. "Hawke would have flayed me alive."

"Is that why you tried so hard to convince everyone you had a thing with Isabella? And why is it Hawke escaped earning a nickname?"

He scoffed, "I dared many things back then, but I wasn't suicidal."

A loud _crack_ interrupted them, announcing the sudden return of the goblin Grapple, who immediately braced a hand to the wall as he gathered his breath. "Lord Anderfel," he grunted. "Albus Dumbledore has arrived in Gringotts, and is demanding answers."

"About...?" He led away meaningfully.

"Yes." Grapple gave him a pointed look, adding, "And, yes."

'Harel nodded his acceptance, then turned to Malfoy with a cunning tilt of his lips. "Fancy a trip to the bank?"

The blond stared. "You're asking me to come along?"

He smirk widened; "You were abducted by a scion of the Black City. I can't possibly let you out of my sight, now. You might run off to spill my darkest secrets."

"I would never-"

"And besides," the mage lord smoothly cut across Malfoy's protest, "after witnessing his reaction to my presence at the feast, I doubt you'll want to miss what the illustrious Headmaster would do when presented with a _real_ challenge."

 **(1)** _Era'harel_ = Elvhen, translating into demon-mage/arcane horror. Source: (they wouldn't let me keep it if I tried).com. Author's Note: Will often exchange for nickname _'Harel_ , as it is easier and faster to type, and sounds similar to Harry.

 _ **Author's Note: Hey there, hi, sorry for the long wait for this chapter. I work full-time, often with overtime, and so sometimes inspiration is exhaustingly impossible. I would like to remind and/or inform my readers that this is the first of my stories that I am updating as I write. Always before, I would wait until my work is complete before posting. This is a new challenge for me, hoping to keep the creative juices flowing. So please, have patience with me. I have never, and never plan to, abandon my stories. I will eventually complete this as a whole, even if the ending turns out to feel contrived and bland. (ew, I hope not.) Remember to read and review, and wish me luck!**_


	4. Mister Potter

**Title:** The Lyrium Ghost

 **By:** Aina Song

 **Fandom(s):** Harry Potter/ Dragon Age II

 **Genre:** Yaoi

 **Rating:** PG-15

 **Warning(s):** Crossover; AU; OOC; Language; Excess Blood; Mentions of Character Death; Flashback(s) to Death Scene; DA2 Direct Quotes and Spoilers.

 **Pairing(s):** Anders/Harry x Fenris

 **Reviews:** Yes, please!

 **Author's Note:** Standard Disclaimer. This story was not written for money. _Italics_ = thought, messages, the Fade.

 **Teaser:** When Harry's magic unlocks a lifetime of hidden memories, he decides to take matters into his own hands to settle a number of wrongs – both recent, and long-ago.

 **Chapter Four – Mister Potter**

They arrived to find Gringotts in an uproar. The very efficiency of the goblins was compromised, as each were distracted by the spectacle in their midst.

Albus Dumbledore stood in the center of the room, looking very confrontational as he stared down the goblin Griphook – as well as a large, gold-adorned goblin fisting a black steel stave in its gnarled hand. At the Headmaster's side stood none other than Severus Snape, who somehow managed to appear both snide and neutral in the same moment.

"And _I_ tell _you_ ," Era'harel heard Griphook retort as Grapple led their small band closer, "that vault has been sealed. You are no longer in authority to demand entrance."

"But this is absurd, a misunderstanding," Dumbledore was insisting, with a sliver of impatience in his carefully calm tone. His very demeanor suggested he had repeated himself a few times before 'Harel's arrival. "I am the boy's magical guardian; you have never denied me my rights before."

Griphook's mouth twisted in a thin scowl, belying the almost-gleeful glint in his beady eyes. "Those rights are currently in question."

"By whom?"

" _I_ question them," 'Harel firmly announced as they came closer, Varric smirking smugly at his side. "You claim guardianship of a boy wildly famous for something he can't remember, whom all the members of our world loathe or admire, and yet never once made this claim known to the boy himself."

Dumbledore sputtered, "Where do you-"

"He told me."

" _You_ know Mister Potter?"

"A redundant question, Headmaster," Snape quietly spoke up. "Everyone knows of Potter. I believe the more important riddle is why we should accept that Mister Potter would trust this man with such personal matters."

"I like you," 'Harel decided suddenly. "Your opinion does not seem colored by media gossip, monetary bribes, or how a revelation might benefit you. As to both your questions - yes I know Harry, and you should accept that he trusts me because, once again, the goblins do not lie." When both men glared at him in suspicious curiosity, he deigned to elaborate. "Upon his maturity, young Harry was summoned to this very bank, whereupon a great number of unsettling truths were revealed to him. It seems _you_ , Mister Dumbledore, took it upon yourself to seal the boy's parents' wills before they could even be read and took it upon yourself to place him where he would receive the furthest thing from an example of familial love as one could find. Questionable, at the very least."

The old man's eyes twinkled quite cunningly. "I will admit to nothing more of that unfounded spiel than that the dear boy needed to be raised far from the fame our world would have thrust upon him, and where Voldemort's followers would be hard-pressed to ever find him due to the protections placed there by his mother."

"The blood wards, you mean," the mage lord confirmed, surprising them both. "Wards you proposed would keep Harry safe from harm, so long as he could consider that place his home, and those people his family. Wards that did nothing to protect him from within. Wards, I might add, which would have been impossible to keep erect, as Harry had admitted to never viewing that house nor its residents as home nor family." His warm amber eyes narrowed as he took a subtle breath to calm himself. "I certainly hope you begin to see why I am drawing your rights in question."

Era'harel turned his attention away from the man before he could form an intelligent reply, giving Griphook his attention as the goblin approached. "Mage Lord Anderfel," he greeted. "Your presence to our summons is both prompt and timely. I hope you'll forgive my abruptness, but there is a matter which much be addressed immediately."

"Of course," he agreed easily with a nod of his head. He made a small motion toward the blond at his side, "I come with an uninvited guest, but he will not interfere."

Griphook gave Draco Malfoy a deeply scrutinizing once-over, but nodded his acceptance.

"That is one of my students," Dumbledore argued, out of turn. "Kidnapped from Hogwarts' very halls by this man, whom another of my students declared a descendant of evil. I strongly request that young Mister Malfoy be relinquished and returned to his schooling."

Arching his brow at the old man, 'Harel turned to Malfoy. "Did I remove you from the castle against your will?"

"No, sir," was the boy's response.

"And would you be prepared to answer that same question under Veritaserum?" Grapple pressed.

Draco lifted his head a little higher, his voice stronger as he replied, "Yes, sir."

"Mister Malfoy is still a student under my supervision," Dumbledore insisted.

It was then that Severus Snape spoke up again, his voice quiet and velvet-smooth. "With all due respect, young Malfoy is seventeen, an adult in the eyes of wizarding law. We cannot force him to return, Headmaster, unless it is his express wish to do so."

"Severus-!"

"However," he added, "perhaps we could all reach a definite understanding, were the boy's father present and enlightened of our current predicament."

Dumbledore did not look at all pleased by the professor's suggestion. On the other hand, Griphook's meaty brow crinkled with bemusement, and he turned toward the gold-adorned goblin silently observing the confrontation. This one, obviously his superior, nodded once in permission. Smirking, Griphook motioned to Grapple, who did not hesitate to make the fire-call.

A small handful of minutes later, one of the public hearths flared green, and Lucius Malfoy stepped smoothly into the main hall. The man brushed the fall of his platinum hair behind his shoulder and swept a bit of ash from his sleeve, gripping an elegant cane in his other hand as he approached. He nodded to the goblins, narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore. His gaze then settled upon Era'harel, and his steps froze.

The young mage lord turned and came a step closer, straightening to his full height. His warm amber eyes flashed, and his magic gave a tangible thrum over his skin, Without even needing an introduction, Malfoy Senior brought his empty fist to his chest and sank to his knee. 'Harel could hear Dumbledore's surprised sputter, and felt his mouth tug in a small smirk as he approached the blond aristocrat. "Do you know me?"

"You are Magic," Lucius murmured, head bowed.

Chuckling, he touched a hand to the man's shoulder. "You and your son are very sensitive. Come, stand and join us. We require your voice in this matter."

The older blond straightened to his feet. "Matter?" He politely asked as he moved to stand at Draco's side.

Dumbledore quickly spoke up, obviously hoping to turn the conversation in his favor. "Your son was stolen away from our halls by this man, and has been convinced he doesn't need to return."

Quirking a slim eyebrow, Malfoy Senior turned his gaze upon his only son and heir.

"Father," Draco spoke quietly and respectfully. "The Headmaster misspoke."

When Dumbledore twitched as though to interrupt again, 'Harel flicked his finger without so much as a glance in the Headmaster's direction. All present stared as the old man grew increasingly frustrated, and ill-tempered as it became evident his voice had been stolen from him. Grapple smirked, Varric chuckled, and Griphook shook his head in awe. " _Thank_ you," he grunted with all sincerity. "It is extremely difficult to give a goblin a headache, but the old man was making a good start of it."

Mouth tugging in a small smirk of his own, 'Harel nodded his acknowledgment of the show of gratitude and motioned for Draco to continue.

The younger blond turned again to his father. "He is descended from Anderfel," he revealed quietly.

"But that's-" The older aristocrat's words trailed off, and his gaze widened.

Draco nodded at the look of awed comprehension in his father's eyes, quite clearly recalling his own moment of clarity. "When I spoke in his defense, the Headmaster implied that I was in support of the Dark Lord himself. Lord Anderfel protected me; I went with him willingly."

"The Dark..." Lucius Malfoy turned blazing eyes upon the Headmaster, his fist gripping his walking cane tightly. "My son will never be tainted by that monster's influence! How _dare_ you suggest such a thing!"

Dumbledore looked almost patronizing as he tried again to speak, his voice lost and stolen by 'Harel's spell of silence. But it was clear what the old man was trying to insinuate when he pointed decisively toward Lucius' arm.

The aristocrat was obviously seething as he shoved his suit coat from his shoulder and freed his arm. He unbuttoned his cuff and unceremoniously wrenched his sleeve up. His flesh was red and swollen, the Mark upon his arm black and writhing as though alive. Draco gave a pained gasp, stepping closer to his father and gingerly setting his hands to Lucius' other arm. In what 'Harel suspected to be a rare public show of affection and comfort, the father kissed his son's brow before turning his gaze again to Dumbledore. " _This_ , Headmaster, is what happens when you incur the Dark Lord's wrath by ignoring his summons. I am married now; I have a family. My ambitions have shifted. I have denied the Dark Lord. Quite bluntly, one of the only reasons he has not hunted me down and killed me is because he knows it to be inevitable, and seems to enjoy the thought of prolonging the torment."

"Father..."

Malfoy Senior turned his back to the Headmaster, fixing his shirt and coat before pulling his son into a fierce embrace that was returned just as strongly.

"Perhaps the Headmaster has worn out his welcome," Era'harel suggested to Griphook, who nodded sharply.

"It would appear so." He snapped his fingers, and quite suddenly Albus Dumbledore was standing outside the goblin bank altogether.

Severus Snape hummed, quietly drawing attention upon himself. "I believe I shall see myself out."

"No," 'Harel argued just as the man began to turn away. "I would speak with you, after I have concluded my business here."

The dark potions professor quirked a single eyebrow in response, before nodding and standing back again to await his turn. 'Harel first turned his attention to the goblins. He bowed lightly to Griphook once more. "I believe you summoned me."

"Not I," the goblin shook his head. He stepped back, motioning to his gold-adorned kinsman. "King Ragnarok, my lord."

Understanding dawned, and Era'harel offered a much deeper bow than before. "Your Majesty."

"Mage Lord Anderfel," the aged goblin greeted, his gravelly voice uncommonly regal for one of his kind. "We have long awaited your awakening, and are both gratified and relieved that your spirit found its way to us at last. We grant you status as Goblin-friend, and shall work to absolve you of any past sins in the eyes of the Ministry. As well, I hereby make to you my personal offer to assist you in your endeavors."

Stricken with humility, 'Harel cleared his throat. "Thank you, your Majesty. But currently, I've only two critical goals on my agenda, and I feel a strong responsibility to see them through personally."

Ragnarok quirked a meaty brow at that, to which Griphook leaned in and murmured near his ear. "Ah," he declared. "Yes, of course, such goals must be prioritized, but I do believe you are forgetting certain others."

"Sir?"

"Dumbledore," Varric hissed so that Snape nor the Malfoys would hear him.

The reawakened mage blinked, turning again to the goblin king. "Your Majesty, while your assistance would be greatly appreciated, I could not possibly impose upon your goodwill with such trivialities."

"It would be no trifle," the goblin king dismissed. "We guide and protect our own."

Knowing it would be an offense to refuse the king a second time, 'Harel bowed his acceptance. Ragnarok nodded in apparent approval, snarling something to Griphook in that garbled tongue of theirs, and then turned away. His steel stave clacked upon the floor with each step as he let himself out through some unknown exit in another part of the building only known to the race that ran it.

Era'harel caught Snape's eyes darting briefly between himself and the goblins, but left the professor to stew in his curiosity a moment longer. Instead, he turned to the Malfoys. As a one, they both dipped their heads in acknowledgment and approached. "Young Draco has earned my protection. He spoke in my defense against Albus Dumbledore, and against implications that I would follow or replace Voldemort. To show my appreciation, I invite you and your family to accept my offer to house you somewhere safe while you are threatened by this dark lord."

Lucius Malfoy made a visible attempt not to stare, only needing a moment's thought to nod his agreement. With a small smirk, 'Harel lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. With a muted _crack_ , Kreacher appeared and looked adoringly up at his young lord, awaiting orders. Ignoring the surprised utterances around him, 'Harel sank to his knee and sat on his heel to bring his eyes level with those of the loyal house elf. "Kreacher, I need you to take these two to their home, quickly. Help them protect their valuables and their home, and to pack their clothes, and then bring them and Narcissa Malfoy to Grimmauld. Strengthen our wards and allow no one else to enter until I return."

"And the Mistress?"

He allowed a dark chuckle to escape; "If she resists, give her hell."

The house elf gave a gleeful cackle and disappeared with another _crack_ , taking the Malfoys with him.

"Blondie, you were made for this," Varric chuckled low enough to not be overheard.

Era'harel smirked, turning at last to Severus Snape. The man had ceased his staring, his dark eyes guarded and observant as the resurrected mage approached. They looked each other over in silence, until the potions master drew a slow breath. "Good evening, Mister Potter."

 **A/N: I am so so _so_ sorry about the long-delayed update! I have not given up on this story, but sometimes inspiration runs screaming in the other direction. I gave my word not to leave this unfinished, and I really liked my original idea for this story. I was so gripped with emotion by the first image that came to my mind when I twiddled with the idea of an HP/DA crossover. So, just like all of my faithful readers (whom I truly hope haven't given up on me), I really want to see this through. Review, please! Let me know there's still hope out there!**


	5. Thank You

**Title:** The Lyrium Ghost

 **By:** Aina Song

 **Fandom(s):** Harry Potter/ Dragon Age II

 **Genre:** Yaoi

 **Rating:** PG-15

 **Warning(s):** Crossover; AU; OOC; Language; Excess Blood; Mentions of Character Death; Flashback(s) to Death Scene; DA2 Direct Quotes and Spoilers.

 **Pairing(s):** Anders/Harry x Fenris

 **Reviews:** Yes, please!

 **Author's Note:** Standard Disclaimer. This story was not written for money. _Italics_ = thought, messages, the Fade.

 **Teaser:** When Harry's magic unlocks a lifetime of hidden memories, he decides to take matters into his own hands to settle a number of wrongs – both recent, and long-ago.

 **Chapter Five – Thank You**

'Harel gave the dark professor an appraising look. "When did you catch on?"

"When you made your entrance into the castle," the man admitted. "A powerful mage appears, backed by goblins and circumventing Albus Dumbledore's every move, and on the very night that Harry Potter goes missing?"

Era'harel turned to Varric in bemused disbelief. "Why is it that no one else made that distinction?"

The dwarf lifted his shoulder in a shrug, but in his eyes was a familiar glint. The old storyteller could likely think of countless reasons, true or not. And none of them flattering.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Severus Snape gave a small quirk of his mouth. An almost-smirk. It livened his whole expression. "I found it amusing."

Varric gave a loud guffaw, wrapping his arms over his stomach and curling over his knees. It was such an achingly unforgettable sound, Era'harel paused to appreciate it until it was over. But when he turned again to the dark professor, he was interrupted by Kreacher who returned with a _crack_ and a wild gleam in his eyes. "Missy Cissy attacks! She betrays! She harms!"

Quirking a single brow, the young lord sank to his knee and brought himself level to the loyal creature. He touched a hand to Kreacher's shoulder. "Breathe, now, and slow down. What did she do, specifically?"

The poor thing gulped in a great lungful of air, nodding. "Missy Cissy-"

"Narcissa," Era'harel patiently corrected.

Drawing himself straighter, Kreacher began again. "Narcissa does not liking hiding from Bad Snake. Screams and fusses and fights Kreacher's magic to bring her. Kreacher takes her and Mage Lord's Malfoys like he is being trusted to. Missy- _Narcissa_ is seings where Kreacher puts them, and she being screaming and cursing and attacking, and Malfoys is being hurt, and Kreacher try stopping but cans only lock her away and come to Mage Lord for help."

Era'harel frowned, cutting a glance to Varric. The guised dwarf nodded sharply; Grapple and he left quickly for the bowels of the goblin bank. "Professor," 'Harel pronounced, straightening to his full height, all humor fleeing from his steady gaze. "You will want your answers, no doubt."

Snape nodded, catching on with no trouble. "I have all evening."

"Then you will come with me," he said, extending his arm, "and I will see to your curiosity after I have dealt with this… turn."

With another dip of his head, the dark professor stepped forward and set his hand atop the mage's arm, and the three of them vanished from the halls of Gringotts.

~o~

They arrived within the entrance hall of Grimmauld, and 'Harel braced Snape against the wall as the wards closed in on them before recognizing their master's magical aura. After a moment, the darker man nodded that he could breathe again, and they followed Kreacher into the sitting room. Lucius Malfoy and his son were comforting one another on one of the sofas, the elder aristocrat's eyes warily watching a darkened corner across the room. There stood Narcissa Malfoy, raving and screaming silently, her voice stolen or silenced as she threw her fists and kicked at an invisible barrier. Kreacher huffed and nodded his head, as though assured his magic had held in his brief absence, but he said no more.

Snape immediately crouched before the occupied sofa, hands and eyes checking over the younger Malfoy, who seemed to take the inspection with an air of familiarity. Malfoy Senior set a hand to the professor's shoulder, and the two shared a long look, before Snape let out a small sigh and visibly relaxed.

"What did she do?" Era'harel softly demanded.

It was Lucius who answered. "My wife deceived us. We never knew that she was truly loyal to the Dark Lord, and when your elf announced your intent to hide us, she dropped all pretense and attacked us. Very dark curses, which left my son and myself little chance for defense. Your elf is very loyal indeed, Lord Anderfel. He protected us and fought back until he had her cornered there, and I assume by the evidence before me that he then left to tell you of her actions."

"He said you had been hurt."

"She had petrified Father," Draco murmured, turning to rest his forehead against the elder blond's shoulder. "I was distracted with casting the counter jinx, and she threw a bludgeoning hex at my back."

Snape seemed to choke on his next breath; he shot to his feet, carefully but insistently prying at the back of Draco's robes. The boy allowed it as though having expected this behavior, and even Lucius cooperated, loosening his son's collar so that his spine could be inspected. The dark professor hissed at whatever he found there and drew his wand. Draco let out a small whimper but remained otherwise still as his back was healed. Snape and Lucius only relaxed at Draco's relieved sigh, both of them drawing the boy into their arms.

Narrowing his eyes, 'Harel turned to Narcissa. The woman had ceased her barrage against Kreacher's shield, now glaring at all of them with her hands clenched tight at her sides. Her once-fine gown was mussed, and her hair had lost its glossy sheen and fell around her face in disarray. The resemblance to her crazed sister at that moment was uncomfortably uncanny. Yet the resurrected mage had met _puppies_ with better intimidation skills. He turned his wrist and gave a flick of his fingers; Narcissa Malfoy gave a visible shudder, wrapping her arms tight around herself as though chilled through to her bones. At 'Harel's nod, Kreacher cancelled the shield; Narcissa dropped heavily to her knees before vanishing completely.

"Where did you send her?" Snape spoke up.

"I wiped her mind of the entire day and sent her to your Dark Lord's doorstep. She will not even remember leaving her bed this morning. I'd also dwindled her magical core to little more than a candle's glow. She will never be able to harm another by magical means again."

"I don't know which to thank you for," Lucius murmured. "That you showed her mercy… Or that you gave her to a monster who surely will not."

Era'harel gave a dark chuckle, finally turning to his three guests. "Whichever helps you sleep at night. Now, quickly. Show me your arm."

Starting visibly, the aristocrat seemed to swallow an indignant protest before shifting just away from his son enough to comply. 'Harel nodded his gratitude at the trust in Lucius' compliance, patiently urging the sleeve up and away from the writhing black mark marring the man's forearm. Tutting under his breath after a moment's inspection, he turned his gaze and held out his other hand. "Professor?"

With a slight frown, Snape pushed up his own sleeve and surrendered his arm to the young lord. The mark there was black, but calm and almost contrite in comparison to his friend's.

Era'harel brought the two arms together, their marks nearly touching. After a long moment's anticipatory pause, both men hissed in surprise when the mage's hands flared in green. Yet this was not the sickly green of death that haunted their darkest memories, but a soft glow that caressed their skins warmly as it crept up their arms. The glow swallowed their marks. It drowned the marks under its soothing pulse. Snape and Lucius waited tensely. The blanket of 'Harel's magic drew away from the professor's arm first, revealing clean, unblemished skin. Snape drew his arm away as he was released, staring.

Lucius flinched with a pained groan, reaching his free hand over to grip Snape's knee. The darker man looked up, obsidian eyes narrowing upon discovering that his friend's arm was still wrapped in their host's glowing magic. The blond aristocrat seemed to be fighting the instinct to pull away. His jaw was clenched, a muscle along his cheek ticking in irritation, and perspiration beaded along his hairline. Draco Malfoy was staring at his father in candid concern, the need to help and the fear that he would only make things worse written clearly across his wide gaze.

The reawakened mage felt a hesitant nudge within his mind. When he ignored it, he felt the sensation again, almost daringly insistent in its second attempt. Sparing a tiny thread of awareness toward the distraction, Era'harel let escape a breath in sudden comprehension. He pushed at his magic, a dark violet strand permeating the green glow. Lucius flinched again, but in the next instant it was over. The glow faded, drawing back like fog after the rain.

Lucius' arm was clear.

The three on the sofa embraced in greedy elation; 'Harel was kind enough not to draw attention to the tears brimming in their eyes. He stood, leaving them to their quiet celebration, and made his way into the entrance hall. Wilburga gave a stiff curtsy in greeting, appearing to make an effort of not cowering toward the frame of her portrait. "Mage Lord."

"Madame Black," he nodded in return.

"I note we have guests."

"Worry not. They, and I, will not linger long. However, I first offer you a proposal."

The formerly unpleasant woman took a long breath to compose herself as she had learned to do in the scant weeks since he had claimed her home. She clasped her hands before her and gave him her attention.

"I am closing Grimmauld." Era'harel lifted a hand, silencing her protests before she could begin. "This ancient home shall be protected by the strongest magics, and shall disappear from the minds of any who would do her harm. Her walls will be strengthened, her doors and windows sealed tight and undiscoverable. Be assured, her security will be greater than any _Fidelius_."

"Why?" She finally asked in a hoarse whisper.

"It was never my intention to remain here. Your home was once quite lovely, and I have assured that it is so again. But it was also your sons' home. There are memories within her halls that I am long finished visiting."

"Is this to do with that bit of trouble Kreacher needed your help with?"

He quirked an impressed brow. "Partly. But the reasons I gave are primary."

"I see." She sighed, "What is your proposal, my lord?"

"To take you with us."

Wilburga stared, her lips parting and closing as though searching for something to say.

"Madame," the young lord proffered, "I have spoken with a goblin acquaintance to have another portrait commissioned for you, that you may pass from these halls to our new home. You need not leave your memories behind. I am giving you the option to visit them whenever you wish."

She cast her painted gaze all around her, taking in the familiar, and she gave an unsteady breath. "And if I wish to remain at home, but to visit yours when whim and opportunity take me?"

Era'harel tilted his head in a nod of acceptance. "I know the decision is difficult. These walls have been all you knew for several years. Where I am going is unknown to you, and I understand how unnerving that can be. It is not easy to leave one's home."

"You sound as though you speak from experience."

He gave a small, self-deprecating smirk. "No man gets far by standing still."

They shared a look of mutual understanding, until the sound of soft footsteps interrupted them. Severus Snape entered the hall, his posture and expression as composed as ever. Yet in his dark eyes shone a well of gratitude he did not seem too interested anymore in hiding. He made to speak, cut his gaze for a moment to the portrait watching him, then seemed to correct the start of his words. "Lord Anderfel. We wondered where you had gotten to. And we were curious as to what you intend to do with us, now."

The young mage shook his head; "I've no intention of ever indoctrinating the three of you under my whim, if that is your fear. But now that you are freed, I must hide you from his wrath until he is dealt with. With your consent, I had planned to bring you immediately to my new home."

Snape's brow came together in slight frown. "This… is not your home?"

'Harel knew the true question beneath those words, and he spoke very clearly. "Grimmauld was given to Harry Potter. But these halls are filled with the laughter of his late godfather, and he'd rather not torture himself with the unrelenting proof of the man's absence."

"Where _is_ Potter?" Draco asked as he came into the hall, followed closely by his father. "You told Dumbledore he was with you, but he hasn't come around any corners demanding to see us tossed out."

"Did I?" He mused, bracing an arm casually against the wall. "Because I don't recall ever actually saying he was anywhere."

The young blond seemed to think back for a moment before accepting the truth of his words. "Then where is he?"

He quirked his brow. "Why do you ask?"

"Is he safe?"

Era'harel blinked, taken aback by the hint of worry pushing behind the Malfoy heir's questions. Chuckling under his breath, he gave a small smile. "Harry Potter is safer than he has ever been. I give you my word."

A thoughtful silence fell over his three guests for a long moment. At last, Severus and Lucius each placed a hand to Draco's shoulders as the boy looked up and met their host's gaze. "Thank you."

 **Author's Note: I know this chapter seems short, barely more than a couple scenes. But I truly felt guilty for making my readers wait so long for me to find energy or inspiration. A few details are important, but I may as well be honest with myself and call this one a filler chapter. Every writer goes through this, having to battle his/her way through a few filler scenes before joyously breezing through the plot bunnies. But I made a promise, to myself and to my readers. You and me, readers. Let's ride this rollercoaster. Read/Review, virtual hugs for everybody!**


	6. As I Do

**Title:** The Lyrium Ghost

 **By:** Aina Song

 **Fandom(s):** Harry Potter/ Dragon Age II

 **Genre:** Yaoi

 **Rating:** PG-15

 **Warning(s):** Crossover; AU; OOC; Language; Excess Blood; Mentions of Character Death; Flashback(s) to Death Scene; DA2 Direct Quotes and Spoilers.

 **Pairing(s):** Anders/Harry x Fenris

 **Reviews:** Yes, please!

 **Author's Note:** Standard Disclaimer. This story was not written for money. _Italics_ = thought, messages, the Fade.

 **Teaser:** When Harry's magic unlocks a lifetime of hidden memories, he decides to take matters into his own hands to settle a number of wrongs – both recent, and long-ago.

 **Chapter Six – As I Do**

Era'harel took them to Golden Hall and bade them every comfort. Young Draco grinned like a child at Christmas, taking in the burnished entrance hall he had been introduced to little more than an hour past. But he quickly distracted himself, asking again toward Harry Potter's safety and location. Even his father could not quiet him, though his efforts did not seem too insistent. Like son, it appeared, like father. Severus Snape delayed the Malfoys and convinced them to retire for the night. Though not without tossing their host a pointed look of his own. He, too, had been promised an explanation.

'Harel nodded, leading the dark man into a drawing room and settling them both down in high-backed chairs with glasses of sherry. "Now," he invited. "Ask your questions."

The professor set his glass upon a side table, untouched. "To start with, how did this change of yours come about?"

"When the clock rang in my seventeenth birthday, my magic vanished. It was terrifying," he recalled, shuddering. "All the color, all the music of the world… gone. And then it slammed back into me, and I passed out. When I woke the next morning, I looked like this."

Snape quirked a dark brow. "Am I not to receive a better answer than that?"

"You might, if you ask the right questions."

"Why do you and the goblins refer to yourself as Anderfel?"

"Because that is who I am."

"You are Harry Potter."

"I am."

The man gave an impatient huff. "You cannot be both."

"Can't I?"

Severus Snape glared in irritation, then in contemplation. He was an intelligent man, and quite cunning, to have survived so long under the Dark Lord's thumb. 'Harel could see the man's mind working behind those deep eyes, and he almost grinned when he saw that his former professor had reached the answer. "Two souls?"

Well. Perhaps not quite the correct answer. "Try, reincarnation."

"…What?"

Feeling his mouth tug in a wry smirk, Era'harel raised his voice in firm command. "Kreacher."

The aged house elf appeared with his customary _crack_ by the door.

"I need you to retrieve the pensieve from my library," he instructed, not unkindly. "Please take care; it is old."

Kreacher nodded and _cracked_ out of view, returning within moments, gingerly floating the stone bowl to the center of the room and setting it down upon a conjured pedestal. He vanished again with a brief bow.

'Harel stood, calmly approaching the pensieve. He touched a finger to his temple, the tip of which glowing softly as he brought his hand away and touched the lip of the stone bowl. Turning, he gave a grand wave of his arm in invitation.

Snape rose to his feet and came closer. He peered almost warily into the swirl of white and silver within the pensieve. "The bowl looks to be rather full…"

"It's a rather involved explanation," he answered. "Shall we?"

Seeming to draw upon something deep in his chest, the dark professor gave a curt nod and bowed his face into the bowl.

~o~

 _They landed in the middle of a large circular stone room, surrounded by bookshelves standing taller than any man could reach without the helpful presence of the occasional sliding ladder. A middle-aged woman with kind eyes huffed and swept a stray curl from her face as she peered around one shelf after another. "Child," she cajoled. "If you don't come out, I can't help you."_

 _After a long moment, a gangly adolescent boy with matted auburn hair and wearing robes that seemed much too big for him stepped reluctantly from behind a shelf across the room. His face was bruised, his left eye had swelled shut; there were raw scrapes across the knuckles of both his hands, and he had an obvious limp as he approached the woman._

 _"Oh, child," she breathed on a whisper. She lifted her hands to either side of his face, her palms glowing green as she set to work healing him. The boy was eerily silent, barely twitching as she passed her hands over each of his injuries. With extraordinary patience, the woman then tended to his hands and the twist of his ankle. "Come," she gently grasped his elbow, leading the boy away. "I'll teach you some basic healing magic, so that you needn't wait for me if this happens again."_

 _Severus Snape watched as the two disappeared around another of the endless bookshelves, then he turned to his own former student. "Who was that?"_

 _"The woman was Enchanter Wynne," Era'harel softly revealed. "She was the very first to ever try to reach out to me with anything but hate in her eyes."_

 _"That boy was_ you _?"_

 _There was nothing humorous in his smirk. "These are my memories."_

 _"Where are we?" Snape asked next, glancing around._

 _"A Circle tower." 'Harel explained, "In the time that these memories took place, mages were feared and hated, and locked away. Guarded against rebellions and demon possessions."_

 _The background blurred but settled again upon the stone circular library. This time the woman, her curly hair streaked with grey and tied in a loose bun, was smiling proudly. The boy was older as well, fifteen or so, and gently cupping a small bird in hands glowing a soft blue. The bird was turning its head quickly one way and the other, and the boy's mouth twitched as though fighting a laugh. At last, the boy lifted his hands high and released the bird. The woman moved to the boy's side as they both watched the bird fly straight for one of the impossibly high windows and fly away._

 _"Some mages were lucky enough to find a specialty," 'Harel spoke as the room slowly darkened with the setting sun. "This was the day we discovered I had an affinity for spirit healing. A rarer, more complex healing magic. Wynne was so excited; she wanted to petition me to become a full-fledged Enchanter, like her."_

 _"Enchanter?"_

 _"Something like a professor," he defined. "Or, in your case, a Master of a chosen field. Enchanters were trusted to leave the Circles, loan themselves out in service to the people."_

 _Snape blinked, "You were one of these Enchanters?"_

 _Era'harel broke out in loud laughter, shaking his head. "I was far too rebellious. I ran away as often as I could find opportunity. I was always caught, though. Until the last time…"_

 _The scene shifted entirely, this time showing a castle courtyard in the dead of night. The boy was now in his mid-twenties, his strange robes scuffed and torn and showing fresh bleeding cuts and red bruises along his arms and back. He was shoved to his knees, while three men and a woman in heavy armor held him at sword-point._

 _Snape took a half-step forward before he remembered himself, but his hands curled into fists at his sides. Era'harel touched a hand to the man's shoulder, appreciating the gesture nonetheless._

 _"Who were they," Snape demanded. "What were they doing to you?"_

 _"Templars. They were sanctioned by local religion to guard and protect the mages against corruption."_

 _"Then, why…?"_

 _"Because over time they had lost their purpose." 'Harel felt a twinge of the old rage as he explained, "The circles, meant to shelter us, became prisons. The templars were our jailors. Magic was a sin, a blemish upon the world." He shook his head, turning again toward the scene before them. "Every mage had the potential of corruption, but we were treated as though we were corrupted already and needed to be leashed."_

 _There was an eerie sound in the air, and the armored men all flinched and looked wildly about. Snape turned, and nearly backed into 'Harel with a horrified shout as a number of grotesque creatures came into view. They slipped from between trees and bushes, and dropped from wheelbarrows and stacks of crates. Two of the templars closed together in front of their companions and prisoner, brandishing their swords._

 _It was a hopeless battle. They were sorely outnumbered. One templar was instantly slaughtered, and the second was fought over by the ravenous monsters. Her screams pierced the night as they tore into her._

 _"This is a nightmare," Snape uttered, dark eyes staring._

 _The bound youth on his knees struggled against his ropes. "Let me loose," he pleaded with his captors. "I can help."_

 _"Silence, mage!" One of his surviving guards bellowed. "If we don't bring you back to the Tower, you'll be branded an apostate!"_

 _"There's only the two of you, against-!"_

 _The templar still standing over him brought the hilt of his sword down hard upon the back of the mage's head. The young man collapsed to the ground with a pained grunt._

 _By some miracle, he was ignored as the creatures converged upon the last two armored guards. The men fought bravely, but were overwhelmed, their final cries downing under the hungry snarls and unhinged madness of their devourers. For several minutes, the creatures seemed content to enjoy their feast. But then one of them turned its ugly gaze upon the bound youth in his corner._

 _The young man groaned and shook his head to clear it. The screech of a rusted axe scraping among stone tiles snatched his attention, and he looked up as one of the creatures began to draw near. The youth's amber eyes widened, before taking on a heated glow._

" _You're going to want to step back," Era'harel advised, lightly gripping the dark professor by the arm and drawing him away. The memory couldn't touch them, but to stand too close now would be more than reckless._

 _Fire engulfed the lone creature, drawing upon the curiosity and mad vengeance of its fellows. They raged and bellowed as they came upon the young mage. A static charge lit up the ground beneath their feet, and lightning danced angrily from one to another. Some few paused in their confusion at the spontaneous attack, but far more were too stubborn to be slowed. A fireball was flung in their direction, followed by another, slowly breaking their numbers._

' _Harel and Severus Snape watched as the mage broke his bounds at last, the ropes falling to the ground in burning embers. With his arms free, he pushed to his feet and drew in a steeling breath. Moonlight glinted across the golden loop dangling from his ear as he rubbed his fingertips quickly over his thumbs, the friction seeming to build an electric charge in his hands, and he flung shards of lightning at the creatures, keeping them at bay._

" _I was lucky," Era'harel commented as the memory of his younger self continued to kill off the monsters. "The templars had forgotten to poison me with magebane, a tonic to stifle one's magic. Had they remembered, I would never have survived that night."_

" _Your powers were… impressive."_

" _Unheard of, you mean." When the professor gave him a mild glare, he shook his head. "This is why I plan to make changes in Hogwarts. Now that my memories are back, I am painfully aware of just how much has been lost over the ages. So much magic. So much history… Ah."_

" _What is it?"_

 _He dropped his head back a moment, self-deprecatingly. "I knew someone once who tried so hard to make me understand this very thing. I was not kind to her."_

 _Before he could say more, racing footsteps drew their attention back upon the memory playing before them. The last of the creatures fell to the mage's flames, even as a man in leathers and a woman in splint wood armor came around the corner. The newcomers stared at the mage who shook the last of the flames from his fingertips, looked around himself to find that he alone stood among his fallen guards, and announced, almost coyly, "… I didn't do it."_

 _Snape's mouth almost tugged in a slight smirk as their surroundings shifted yet again. "Your abominable luck and tendency toward being the victim of wrongful accusations seems to have stemmed further back than I thought."_

' _Harel chuckled, acknowledging the irony as the next memory settled around them._

 _They were in another part of the same courtyard. A man in golden heavy armor with a small brigade of men behind him seemed to be greeting the man in leathers who had found Era'harel's memory self just moments ago. One of his warriors, a woman by her voice, stepped forward urgently. "Your Majesty, beware! This man is a dangerous criminal."_

 _The man in gold looked over those he had been conversing with, an easy grin on his lips as he settled his gaze upon a stout dwarf with cropped red hair and a thick hanging mustache. "Oh, he can be a bit of an ass, but I wouldn't go that far."_

" _She means me," 'Harel's memory self spoke up with a hint of resignation._

" _This is an apostate," the woman went on, "who we were in the process of bringing back to the Circle to face justice."_

" _I'll just escape again."_

 _She stepped forth, her hand hovering over the hilt of her sword. "Never! I will see you hang for what you've done here, murderer!"_

 _He blinked, incredulous. "'Murderer'? But those templars were-" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "What's the use? You wouldn't believe me."_

 _The gold-armored man looked back and forth between the two, before returning his attention to the man in leathers. "Commander?"_

 _The man in leathers shifted, bodily placing himself in front of the young mage as though to protect him. "I hereby conscript him into the Grey Wardens."_

 _When the woman tried to protest, her king spoke up again. "I will allow it."_

 _The memory shifted yet again. Now they were inside the castle itself, watching as the young mage received a large chalice into his hands and gave it a grave look before tipping its contents into his mouth. His eyes clouded over, and he fell faint upon the floor._

 _Severus Snape stared as the walls around them shifted and blurred, and the very air seemed to flash in red hues. "What is this?"_

" _My Joining," Era'harel answered calmly. "The potion in that chalice flooded my mind with dark visions, and I blacked out."_

" _Why?"_

 _The resurrected mage gave a patient sigh, "I will find you a couple tomes to read on the subject, but these memories were in an age when something called the Blight devastated the world, worse than any plague. Grey Wardens were a select force that held the only hope of driving it back whenever it rose up again."_

" _And you were one of these… Wardens?"_

" _Oh, not for long," he chuckled. "I was quite a selfish man for a long time, and only wanted my freedom. I faked my own death and ran away."_

 _The memory shifted._

 _This time, they were somewhere dark and unkempt. People in rags lay upon soiled pallets, some heavily bandaged, others moaning in pain or sickness. Harel's younger self, wearing sturdier clothes than the robes of before, was huddled over a small boy whose parents stood nearby with obvious worry. He was years older, again. Stress lined his angular face, the roguish earring was missing from his lobe, and his auburn hair had been let to grow out and was loosely tied back from his eyes in a halftail. His hands were aglow with blue magic, which he weaved in the air over the boy's prone form. He was frowning in dour concentration._

 _Snape took a guess. "You were healing him?"_

" _Yes."_

 _The embodied memory of Era'harel gathered his hands together, pulling one after the other toward himself. At last, the boy drew a shuddering breath and opened his eyes, struggling to sit up. Dousing the magic in his hands, the young mage seemed to lose all strength for a moment as he turned away. The boy's father clapped a grateful hand to his shoulder, and the small family left through an open door._

 _The mage stood alone for a moment, passing his fingers over his brow as though to battle a coming headache. But then his eyes suddenly flickered an impossible blue, before he snatched a stave from the wall and turned on his heel. He threw his free hand forth, a gesture of warning against a man, woman, and well-kempt dwarf that had entered through the same door as the family had exited._

" _I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation – why do you threaten it?"_

 _The scene shifted again. 'Harel's memory self had joined the same three he had confronted before, within the walls of some pristine building adorned with glowing candles. They turned a corner, to be greeted by a lone man in robes. This man turned around, and the amber-eyed mage let out a choked breath. Upon the other man's brow was seared the blazing sun draped upon the walls around them._

" _How else will mages ever master themselves," this other man insisted, voice dull and droning. "You will understand, as soon as the templars teach you to control yourself." As he spoke, armored men stepped out from behind pillars and draperies. The mage and his companions looked around warily, but they were soon surrounded. The branded man spoke again, this time to the templars. "This is the apostate."_

 _The memory of Era'harel shouted in denial, voice echoing suddenly against itself. Blue light crackled along his form before exploding out of him. He readied his stave in his hand and his eyes when he looked up were two burning blue stars. The voice that spoke through his lips was far different, far more powerful. "_ _ **You will never take another mage as you took him.**_ _"_

 _Severus Snape shook his head, turning a frowning look upon his host as the memory began to shift again. "No more evasions._ What _was that?"_

' _Harel grimaced. "That was a spirit. Different than the ghosts you are familiar with. I would call him a parasite, but I had let him in. I let him possess me, benignly. Or so we had both agreed. Turns out I had more rage than I'd realized, and he was susceptible. Demons were feared for their corruption. But this was a virtuous spirit, and I… may have corrupted him."_

 _The dark professor seemed to take this in, before finally asking, "How much more will we see?"_

" _A few more," 'Harel breathed, relieved at the change of subject. Even if he wasn't all too thrilled, nor did he deem himself ready in the least, to see what came next._

 _They were in a derelict part of a city, in the middle of the night. The mage and his companions stood amongst a dozen bodies, each breathing quickly and still on edge after an apparent attack. Footsteps scraped upon the pavement, capturing their attention. A single man in splint armor looked over the carnage, his face contorting with rage. "I don't know who you are,_ friends _, but you made a serious mistake coming here. Lieutenant," he shouted. "I want everyone in the clearing. Now!"_

 _The small party readied themselves to fight again, but none answered for several long seconds. Then there came a sound, like wet choking, before another man stumbled around a corner. He was heavily bleeding, and barely managed a single word of warning as he collapsed dead to the ground._

" _Your men are dead," announced a deep, rich voice. "And your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can."_

 _A wiry built man in unusual leathers stepped casually over the fallen lieutenant as he approached, the heavy claymore strapped to his back dripping fresh blood in his wake. The armored man who tried to declare the attack angrily moved forward, catching the newcomer's shoulder in a tight grip. "You're going nowhere,_ slave _!"_

 _The exposed markings on the newcomer's skin seemed to catch fire with a piercing blue glow. He spun on his heel, cocking his fist high. The armored man had but a moment to fear his fate, before that glowing fist punched through the armor and into his chest. The newcomer's piercing green eyes glared from under the bangs of his wild white hair as he jerked his fist free of his victim and let him fall._

" _I am_ not _a slave."_

 _Era'harel let free a heavy breath, but shook his head firmly when the dark professor looked to him in question. This, he would not share._

 _The memory this time was set upon a range of cliffs overlooking an angry sea. 'Harel's past self and the friends he seemed to have collected were walking away from what Snape now recognized to be another templar. This templar moved with eerie stealth despite his heavy armor, quickly gripping the mage's arm to stall him while the others walked ahead. "Wait, please."_

 _The templar lifted his helmet from over his head, and the mage stared. "C-Cullen…?"_

" _I am relieved to see you alive," the templar answered quietly. "When the Fereldan tower fell…"_

 _A look akin to guilt and grief passed over the mage's face._

" _I worried. Until I learned you were never even there at the time, and later became a Warden."_

" _I'm sorry."_

" _Oh, don't apologize," the templar gave a small, barely-there smile. "You know I forgave you almost immediately."_

 _There was a soft scuffle, the sound of pebbles shifting upon the ground, and they turned to find the white-haired warrior had doubled back, claymore drawn as though having expected an attack. The templar, Cullen, gripped the mage's wrist in farewell. "Be careful. My brothers-in-arms in Kirkwall are just as devoted to their duties. Some… find ways to amuse themselves with it."_

 _A dark look filled the mage's eyes._

" _And the Knight-Commander mistrusts all mages. No exception."_

" _I'll be careful."_

 _Next came a collage of memories. Brief explosive glimpses of the mage in battle alongside his companions. Serene moments of healing, of helping, of aiding others of his kind toward safety. Laughter-filled memories of card games and bantering around the same table of an old rustic tavern. Several heated arguments with the white-haired warrior shifting into battles in which they would stand back to back in defense of the other. Clandestine conversations, the warrior looking suspicious and pained, the mage looking broken and apologetic. Wandering excavations, the mage urging the help of the obvious leader of his companions. The mage again with the claymore-bearing warrior, in the sun-emblazoned building of before and pleading with an elderly woman._

 _A confrontation between a woman in templar armor and a stern-faced elf in mage robes. Their voices rose as one accused of corrupt magic, while the other declared those accusations false and blind. The man leading the mage's companions tried to mediate, but neither seemed capable of listening to the other. Era'harel's memory self seemed to have finally heard enough, the white-haired warrior close behind as he stepped forward._

" _I will not stand by and watch as you treat all mages like criminals – while those who would lead us bow to their templar jailors."_

 _With but a few more words, light exploded in the background. Severus Snape stared as a building in the very center of the city broke apart and was swallowed up by this deadly glow. The skies grew dark and angry, clouds gathering and swirling overhead. But then the dark professor's attention was stolen again, this time by the anguished screams of an archer in shining pious armor. This archer spat hateful words, nocking an arrow to his bow and taking aim. The arrow was set loose._

"No _."_

' _Harel gripped Snape's shoulder tight and pulled._

~o~

The professor drew a shuddering breath as he straightened away from the pensieve. Era'harel held him steady while he regained his bearings. "Forgive me. I am not yet ready to watch my own death."

"What…" Snape cleared his throat. "What just happened?"

Sighing, he turned and reclaimed his chair, reaching for his abandoned sherry. The professor's dark eyes watched him carefully. After he took a drink from his glass, 'Harel gave a flick of his wrist, and two thick books appeared upon the table beside the chair Snape had claimed earlier. His voice took on an unnervingly neutral tone as he spoke. "Any remaining answers you seek will be found in those tomes. I am sorry. The night has been long, for both of us."

Snape looked toward the books, but then returned his gaze to their host. "Did you expend more energy than you'd led us to believe when you…?" He motioned toward his arm.

Era'harel gave a low chuckle. "You know now that I was a spirit healer. Allow me this brief show of arrogance as I say that Voldemort does not know Magic as _I_ do."


	7. Please

**Title:** The Lyrium Ghost

 **By:** Aina Song

 **Fandom(s):** Harry Potter/ Dragon Age II

 **Genre:** Yaoi

 **Rating:** PG-15

 **Warning(s):** Crossover; AU; OOC; Language; Excess Blood; Mentions of Character Death; Flashback(s) to Death Scene; DA2 Direct Quotes and Spoilers.

 **Pairing(s):** Anders/Harry x Fenris

 **Reviews:** Yes, please!

 **Author's Note:** Standard Disclaimer. This story was not written for money. _Italics_ = thought, messages, the Fade.

 **Teaser:** When Harry's magic unlocks a lifetime of hidden memories, he decides to take matters into his own hands to settle a number of wrongs – both recent, and long-ago.

 **Chapter Seven – Please…**

The door swung quietly closed behind him, the wards throwing themselves up as he entered deeper into the room. With every step, the room slowly lit with the glow of floating candles. The shadows drew back, playing across the glass surface of a familiar glass casket. Near its base, trailing a hand over the carved dwarven runes, one shadow lingered.

"Hey, Blondie," Varric greeted without looking up.

"Varric," he returned as he stepped closer. He smoothed his own hand over the glass. Its cool touch sent a small chill into his palm and fingers, creeping toward his wrist. Era'harel fought the sting in his eyes as he gazed at the slumbering figure protected within the glass. He longed so much to sift his fingers again through that tuft of white hair, to watch those beautiful eyes blink open and focus their piercing gaze upon him as they had done so long ago.

"Proff knows your story now?"

"Yes." A small smile tugged at his lips for a brief second. "'Proff'?"

The dwarf shrugged, "I'll come up with something better after I get to know him."

Era'harel touched a kiss upon the glass, then turned and sank to the floor, resting his back against the casket base. "Couldn't sleep, I see."

Varric joined him, kicking out his legs with a soft groan. "One of the _perks_ of longevity. Physically, I would go weeks, maybe months without it. Mentally… well, I can't deny the luxury of letting my mind rest a spell. Probably drive myself crazy, otherwise."

"But not tonight?"

The dwarf scoffed, and the sound was so familiar, it nearly brought a small smile to the corner of 'Harel's lips. "Now that you're back, my mind is rampant with old memories. I didn't used to think I was one for nostalgia, but here I am – reminiscing."

"I would think a storyteller would enjoy a bit of reminiscing," he teased, half-heartedly. "Isn't that the point?"

"Only with an audience, Blondie," Varric shot back. For a moment, it was as though they were back in the dwarf's room of the Hanged Man. "What about you? You had a long night."

'Harel frowned, turning his gaze away. "You know what happens every time I fall asleep, Varric. I haven't given up the search, but…"

"You two were closer than anything I'd ever seen. Surely, that helps."

"It's been an age since then. Probably many. And the Fade is different. Barren. I think it may be dying."

He heard Varric draw in a sharp breath. "Is that even possible?"

"I don't know," he whispered, dropping his head atop his arms.

A terrible silence fell over them as the weight of the implications worried at their minds. Varric shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. "Well," he spoke gruffly. He settled a hand against the back of the reawakened mage's shoulder, "Listen, we still have all those tomes and scrolls in your vault. There was that scholar Genitivi, and I knew an elf who made it his life's work studying the Veil. I'm almost sure I got him to write some of it down before he disappeared…"

"The Veil."

He paused, perhaps realizing he hadn't been interrupted by some obscure echo. "What's that, Blondie?"

Era'harel Anderfel lifted his head again, and there was the hint of that old rebellious spark in those amber eyes.

~o~

The next morning, the resurrected mage had handed over a goblin-written missive to the magical Ministry, and was now following an Auror through the Department of Mysteries. Varric, guised as Abrasion, was at his side as both a Gringotts representative and a personal guard of its most highly-favored client.

Privately, he had teased 'Harel that he was just waiting for a good story.

At last, the Auror opened the door they were after and waited in the rotatable corridor, as per the missive's orders. 'Harel and Varric stepped into a large rectangular room and made their way down the stone tiers toward the sunken floor in the center. There, exactly as he remembered it, stood an ancient stone archway, draped with tattered black curtain that looked to have gathered even more dust than the last time he had seen it. This time, however, it did not move with some unfelt breeze. It did not whisper ominously with voices from within, though Era'harel did not expect it to, suspecting now what he did of the Fade's dwindling power.

"Blondie…"

"I'm not going to step through, Varric." He gave the archway a long look, flashes of Sirius Black falling through swimming before his eyes. Shaking his head, he turned and settled upon the bottommost tier. "Watch over me. I don't know how long this will take, if it works at all."

~o~

 _Two pairs of grey eyes greeted him as he arrived. The boy clung to his counterpart's side as though afraid they would be separated again. The man had a hand buried protectively within the smaller shard's curls, and was watching Era'harel steadily._

 _The young mage let a pulse of his magic blanket them warmly for a moment. The boy nearly smiled._

 _Turning slowly on the spot, 'Harel found so much vast space around them. He had felt certain this was where the Fade would feel strongest, but still it paled in comparison to what he once had known. Perhaps he had been wrong, to have come. But he needed so much to have been proven right. He needed-_

 _"Strong hands bracing me, anchoring me, do not give in to it, do not let it consume me, push it back, it will work, I came back, he's here, I know it, I just need to, to…"_

 _Era'harel spun on his heel._

 _Dark doe-eyes peered back at him from under a curtain of messily cropped blond hair. This frail-looking presence wore its rags as though they were treasured. It offered a hesitant smile, but appeared ready to flee at the first sign of hostility._

 _Era'harel was cautious, but it was not a demon. "What are you?"_

 _"I help the hurt." It paused a moment, "I-I did. I did help the hurt. Now, I… I watch. I-I listen, I wait…"_

 _"For?"_

 _"My turn to die."_

 _Something uncomfortable squeezed inside his chest. "You're a benevolent spirit, aren't you. You're tied to the Fade, and-"_

 _"Thrones crumbling, stones cracking. Wispy wisps whispering in whistling whimpering willful tears as shadows grew, thick and dank and dark, sharing the empty, spreading."_

 _"Then it's true. The Fade is dying?"_

 _Its answer this time was heart-wrenchingly clear. "Yes."_

 _He closed his eyes, letting the confirmation wash over him, sorrowful but accepting. Drawing a slow breath, he focused again upon the spirit before him. Simple coincidence was too unlikely, given this new perspective. "Why have you come? Did you know to come here?"_

 _The spirit's expression looked suddenly pained. "Blue fire, tasting, taking, stealing, leaving bitter aftertaste on the tongue, blood on the hands, sword screaming through the air…"_

 _Era'harel's heart froze within his chest._

 _"Freed, avenged, still corrupted, hated, hating…" It bit at its lip, ducking its head as it held out its hands in offering. "Forgiven, broken but healing, bathed in his light, home."_

 _In the spirit's hands was a trinket of gleaming silver. Emblazoned upon with a golden sun over a tall black throne, the sight of it was achingly familiar. Hesitantly, 'Harel reached out and accepted it from the spirit's fingers. As soon as his own fingers brushed over the talisman, an electric jolt shocked up his arm toward his elbow. The feeling brought with it several flashes of sights and sounds to his mind, and he gripped the talisman tight, bringing it close to his chest._

 _"He held on to his light for so long, hiding it from the shadows, until darkness became all he knew…"_

 _The mage looked sharply up. "What do you mean?"_

 _The spirit's doe eyes grew saddened indeed. His next words, though offering no explanation, rang strongly of soulful apology. "The dwarf… tell him… Tell him..."_

~o~

Era'harel opened his eyes with a start. His palm ached with cold, and when he sat up he found his fist still gripped the talisman.

"You okay, there, Blondie?"

"Thank you…"

"What was that?"

He looked up, meeting Varric's curious gaze. "It said… 'Thank you, for showing me how to put honey in the nightingale's wine.'"

To his surprise, he watched his friend's face crumble into the most vulnerable expression he had ever seen. "That's not possible…"

"Varric?"

The guised dwarf sighed, as though in pain. "Do you remember me telling you about my stint with some people when the sky tore open?"

"The Inquisition," 'Harel nodded. "Some woman and her guards kidnapped you and interrogated you about Hawke, there was a tear in the skies, and you stuck around to help them fix it."

Chuckling, Varric shook his head. "You still need work with your storytelling, Blondie. Anyway. One of the people I worked with was a young boy, who turned out to be a spirit that had given itself a human body to avenge a mage it had failed to save. A spirit of Compassion. Cole."

Era'harel blinked. "I didn't think that was possible. It wasn't possession?"

"No, we had a Fade expert who confirmed it a dozen times over. That bit you just gave me about the honey and the wine? Cole was becoming more human and worried about being unable to help people without them seeing. So, I taught him a thing or two. First lesson: sneaking honey into our spymaster's wine." He shook his head again; "Of all the things you could've told me you'd found in there, I was not expecting that. But… You said the Fade was dying.?"

'Harel nodded. "I'm sorry, Varric."

He sighed, again. "Well. I'd mourned him once already, after enough time had passed. Same as all the others. You telling me he remembers me, though, that… That does this old heart a world of good."

"He gave me this," 'Harel held out his hands, revealing the amulet.

Varric shifted closer. "Is that what I think it is?"

"The Tevinter chantry amulet Hawke found during one of his escapades. He'd given it to me. Thought I'd like the irony."

"I remember that. You gave it to your elf, though, didn't you?"

"He was wearing it when we…" He drew a long breath, swallowing down the rest of that sentence. He fisted the amulet tight within his palm. "I don't know how Justice or your Cole did it, but his soul is in this amulet. I can feel him."

"So, that's it? All you need now is something from a creature that can't die, a few words, and a splash of your magic."

"The only creature to come to mind is a phoenix. I know of one." Era'harel smirked. "He frequents Dumbledore's office."

Varric laughed uproariously.

~o~

"Lord Anderfel," Severus Snape greeted upon his return to the Golden Hall, his choice of words alerting the young mage that their conversation was not private. "I'm afraid I have something I must draw to your attention."

"Yes?"

The professor's dark eyes held an almost-apologetic gleam as he motioned toward the same drawing room they had talked in the night before. Upon entering, Era'harel discovered a strong ward surrounding his pensieve, and Kreacher standing before it with his spindly arms crossed over his chest. Both Lucius and Draco were in the room as well, each giving the mage lord a look of trepidation when they noticed his return.

'Harel could admit to a sense of bemusement as he took it all in. He quirked an eyebrow at his house elf, who explained immediately. "Malfoys not wants wait for permission. Kreacher stop."

Softly chuckling, he asked, "And how long have you been standing guard?"

"Since older Malfoy destroying Snapey's shields."

He cut a glance to Lucius, who now looked guilty as well as wary. With a small quirk of his mouth, Era'harel returned his attention to the little elf. "Thank you, Kreacher. My secrets could not have been better protected."

Kreacher nodded sharply, snapping his knobby fingers. The ward flickered a moment before vanishing altogether. The house elf dared to give Lucius Malfoy another glare, and in the next instant had gone with a _crack_.

'Harel turned again to Malfoy Senior and son. He nearly smirked at the way they were watching him, as though uncertain of their host but unwilling to let it show, and had to reign in his amusement. "Am I to believe now that you expect some form of retribution for this attempted breach into my private affairs?"

Something in his tone must have gotten through, for they both blinked and began to relax at last. Unable to hold back another soft chuckle, he gave a small shake of his head and waved his arm toward the pensieve in invitation. "Shall we?"

They were unable to completely mask their surprise. But they came closer and joined Era'harel within the swirl of his memories. He led them through each scene, much as he had done for Snape the night before, explaining the significance behind the moments they witnessed. They were both as horrified by the memory of the darkspawn as the dark professor had been; and they both stared in dismay upon witnessing the chantry's explosion. And toward the end, 'Harel pulled them away from the pensieve before they could discover the true manner of his death.

The two Malfoys seemed to need a few moments to reclaim their wits. 'Harel could understand. A lifetime of memories was indeed quite a lot to take in. But then young Draco looked upon him with new, hesitant, eyes, and ventured, "Potter…?"

Rather than any sense of trepidation, 'Harel could only feel a small weight lift from his shoulders. He let out a small sigh, nodding.

It was 'Harel's turn to be greatly surprised, when Draco Malfoy stepped right up to him and took the young mage into his arms in a fierce embrace. Blinking, 'Harel slowly lifted his own arms around the blond and raised his gaze upon Lucius in question.

The older aristocrat only gave a small huff, mouth twitching obviously in an attempt to hold back a smile, before he followed his son's example. Most shocking of all, Severus Snape – the dungeon bat, himself – joined in on the group embrace, coming up behind 'Harel and circling his long arms around all of them together.

It was most unanticipated. In a million lifetimes, he would never have seen it coming. He never thought it possible, never dared dream to find it again. Among these three, who each had once given him their own brands of grief, he now found himself the recipient of unconditional acceptance. It caught him completely unaware.

Era'harel Anderfel was struck by it all, and brought to tears. He dropped his face to the nearest shoulder and wept.

~o~

Long minutes later, 'Harel was sitting sandwiched between the Malfoys on a small sofa, while Severus Snape had claimed one of the high-backed chairs nearby. They had waited patiently while he shed his tears, and were now a silent support as he regained his composure. Eventually, taking a slow breath, 'Harel looked up and held Draco's gaze. "Explain."

If the younger blond was taken aback by the demand, he did not show it. "I was always your friend, Potter-"

"Harry," he softly interrupted. "Or 'Harel, when we're in public."

The smile that curved Draco's lips was small, but sincere. "Harry. I was always your friend, even after you refused my hand in first year. But the Malfoys have always been a largely Dark family. Since I was old enough to understand, Father taught me there were some things I would have to keep secret to protect those I care about. We never believed the Dark Lord was truly gone. Essentially, taunting you was my way of keeping you at a safe distance."

"I was already at the top of Voldemort's list."

"Harry," Draco patiently insisted. "If I had been friendly from the start, and we had gotten close before the eyes of the wizarding world, how long do you believe word would've taken to get back to him? What if he had targeted me to get to you? How do you think you would have responded?"

Era'harel nodded, understanding instantly. It was the exact scenario that had trapped him and caused him to lose Sirius. If Draco and he had been close, then of course 'Harry' wouldn't have hesitated in walking into the snake's pit for him as well.

"Speaking of closeness," he said, turning to Lucius as he changed the subject to take the focus off of himself for a moment. "Last night, after Narcissa's attack…"

"You are hinting at Severus' reaction," the aristocrat nodded.

"And not very subtly," the professor smirked from his chair.

Lucius chuckled. "Draco mentioned that he had told you of our Veela heritage, yes? My marriage to Narcissa was entirely one of convenience. When I came into my maturity and discovered my true mate, my father was very much against it. He had a bigoted view against same-sex relationships, and went against the laws of our creature inheritance. He commanded me to deny my Veela and marry Narcissa Black. But I am self-aware enough to call myself clever in stipulating that the fidelity clause would last in so long as it took to conceive our first-born. After Draco was born, Narcissa immediately sought out another lover, and I was free to rekindle things with Severus, even if we couldn't quite announce ourselves as we wished."

"But if your father hadn't been so despicable…"

"I still would have been born," Draco took over the explanation. "Same-sex couples among the Veela would seek out a trusted surrogate. All the magic of Severus and my father would have gone into the surrogate through a sacred ritual, and I would have received nothing from her but the comfort and protection of her womb as I developed. Although perhaps with darker hair and a bit of a surly attitude," he teased in an aside.

"Brat," Snape bit off without a drop of venom.

'Harel shook his head with a small chuckle, turning again to Lucius. "Draco also mentioned that he doesn't have a mate of his own."

The older blond sighed. "It is far more complicated than that. As he said, we have suspected all along that the danger of the Dark Lord never quite left us. The memories you shared with us show that you know that Magic is sentient, even if the rest of the world has forgotten. When Draco came into his maturity, and his Veela did nothing, I believe it is because in its core his Veela is protecting him and whomever his mate might be."

'Harel blinked, glancing at Draco, who glanced away at having been caught in a half-truth. "What would have happened, otherwise?"

"His blood would have boiled for an instant, and then he would have felt one of three sensations wrap around his heart. A soothing warmth, followed by sudden insight toward the identity of his mate. An immeasurable sense of patience, revealing that his mate had not been born yet. Or…"

Here, he hesitated, and Snape gruffly spoke up. "Or he would have felt an icy dread, because his mate had died before he could find them. His magical core would have slowly eaten away at itself, until eventually his Veela would have called to him to join its mate, and he would have died in his sleep."

A thick, somber silence fell over the room as Era'harel took in this new information. The same nudging sensation within the back of his mind from the night before poked and prodded at a hazed notion until it shone with crystal-like clarity before his mind's eye. Taking a slow breath, he sat straighter. "And if we can convince his Veela that Draco is out of danger?"

The three stared at him for a long moment, until suddenly Snape let out a sharp laugh. "Of course."

"You can do that?" Lucius wondered.

'Harel shook his head. "Not in the sense that you seem to be thinking. I will only be coaxing Magic to judge his safety for Herself. However, the choice to do so is not mine to make."

He turned to Draco, whose expression had morphed into that of a unicorn caught in a _lumos_. But then a look of yearning overtook the young blond, and he leaned forward to stare across 'Harel toward his father. "Please…"


	8. Kid

**Title:** The Lyrium Ghost

 **By:** Aina Song

 **Fandom(s):** Harry Potter/ Dragon Age II

 **Genre:** Yaoi

 **Rating:** PG-15

 **Warning(s):** Crossover; AU; OOC; Language; Excess Blood; Mentions of Character Death; Flashback(s) to Death Scene; DA2 Direct Quotes and Spoilers.

 **Pairing(s):** Anders/Harry x Fenris

 **Reviews:** Yes, please!

 **Author's Note:** Standard Disclaimer. This story was not written for money. _Italics_ = thought, messages, the Fade.

 **Teaser:** When Harry's magic unlocks a lifetime of hidden memories, he decides to take matters into his own hands to settle a number of wrongs – both recent, and long-ago.

 **Chapter Eight - Kid**

Lucius seemed unable to hide a brief flicker of pain as he nodded. "Yes, of course. You know I would not deny you this."

"What do you need me to do?" Draco immediately asked of Era'harel.

"Simply stand with me," he instructed, patiently urging the younger blond to his feet and drawing him to the center of the room. "Close your eyes. Try to keep your core open and unafraid when you feel my magic."

Nodding, Draco let his eyelids fall. 'Harel waited a moment, before lifting his hands to hover at either side of the blond's head. He poured his magic forth, letting it gently coat Draco's form in a pale white glow. The blond visibly flinched for a moment, but then relaxed with a slow breath as the magic's glow began to take strength. Soon it lifted up in great white flames that would have worried 'Harel immensely if he did not know the taste and feel of his own magic so intimately; he waved Lucius and Severus back when they stood in alarm.

Only when the flames turned red hot did the tables turn, and Era'harel found himself turning to the other two for guidance. Lucius Malfoy seemed to be fighting the tears brimming his silver eyes. "His Veela is awakening. You did it."

"Now we need only wait," Snape somberly reminded, "to see how it will respond."

Draco stood in the midst of the ruby and crimson flames for several long minutes, open eyes glaring white and staring blindly toward the ceiling. The delay seemed endless, approaching unbearable as they each began to worry toward the outcome. At last, the flames flew apart and faded in the air, and the young Malfoy heir collapsed to his knees. Severus gripped Era'harel's wrist when the young mage would have stepped closer, indicating that it would not yet be safe to touch him.

They each tensed when a tender whimper escaped Draco's lips. But then the blond youth lifted his head, smiling in haunted wonder through the tears glistening down his cheeks.

"Luna…"

Lucius and Severus froze to either side of Era'harel, whose face broke into a bemused grin. His wrist was released, and he approached the blond, unable to hold back a soft chuckle as Draco looked up at him, eyes still glazed over in wonder. "To see her would mean returning to Hogwarts," he reminded, watching as his new friend's expression fell slightly. "Shall I deliver the news to her in your stead?"

Draco brightened immediately, nodding. He accepted 'Harel's hand, pulling himself to his feet again. His eyes finally began to clear, and some sense of reality nearly dimmed his wonder. "She's a year behind me. I'll have to wait even longer…"

"Courtship begins with correspondence," Lucius offered from across the room, instantly cheering his son.

A subtle _crack_ announced Kreacher's sudden return to the drawing room. The aged house elf bowed low, one knobby fist worrying at the shoulder pin of his toga-like pillowcase. "Mage Lord…"

Era'harel turned all his attention upon the loyal elf. "Yes? What is it?"

"Mistress despairs," he reported, in sullen urgency. "Mage Lord's gift of privacies being disturbed. Dumblies being looking for secretses."

Severus frowned. "I'd thought you planned to strengthen your wards around Grimmauld after we left."

"I did," 'Harel smirked. "And I have. They are now impenetrable. Passersby will barely acknowledge the townhouse is there at all, and anyone with more than a vague curiosity will find themselves distracted by thoughts to be elsewhere. That the _esteemed_ Headmaster has been making enough of an attempt to bring Kreacher to me is evidence, not of his power, but of his bull-headed persistence."

"Is there anything remaining there that we need be concerned about?" Lucius wondered.

Era'harel shook his head. "Dumbledore is searching for Harry Potter, and possibly evidence to use against me. He will find neither."

"What will you do?"

He conjured parchment and a quill into his hands. After quickly penning a note, he folded it over and passed it to the house elf. "Go to Gringotts and give this Grapple. Then you may return and assure Madame Black that she and her home remain safe, no matter the Headmaster's tantrums."

Kreacher nodded quickly before disappearing again.

"And it isn't even noon," he muttered ruefully, causing his guests to smirk or chuckle in surprise. Straightening to his feet, he motioned the others to follow him out of the drawing room and into his personal study.

True to his good nature, he would hear no more questions about Dumbledore, instead herding young Draco to his desk and sitting him down before scrolls of fresh parchment, an eagle quill and ink of fine quality. Soon Lucius and even Severus could not seem to resist joining in the humor as the Malfoy heir happily immersed himself in the task of writing his first letter to his mate.

~o~

Hogwarts welcomed Era'harel upon her grounds as happily as the night before. He released a small chuckle as her magic whispered across his cheek in a warm caress. "Hello, Mother," he teased in greeting, and her magic seemed to thrill in response. "I come with a purpose. The Headmaster is out, distracted by his own greed. Will you let your child into his office?"

There was another brush of warmth across his cheek, before the world swirled seamlessly around him, and he found his request granted. The portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses all buzzed and whispered in alarm. Upon the shelves of one wall, several trinkets and gadgets paused briefly before whirring in agitation. And, resting upon his proud perch, one brilliantly plumaged phoenix lifted his head from under his wing and blinked open a pair of eyes yellow as the sun.

'Harel smirked at the legendary bird, bringing a finger to his lips. With very little thought, the painted headpersons became frozen within their portrait frames. He let loose a thread of his raw magic, breaking all of Dumbledore's treasured tracking devices and collapsing the surveillance charms that would have alerted the old man to another's presence in his office.

His carefree tampering was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Since the magic of Hogwarts did not seem alarmed at the interruption, he gave in to his curiosity. Era'harel's mouth tugged in a soft smile in greeting. "Good afternoon."

Luna Lovegood calmly returned his gaze with luminous silvery eyes. "Hello, Harry Potter."

Giving a fond chuckle, he took her hand and gently tugged her into the office with him. She stepped easily into his arms, and he gave her brow a brotherly kiss before releasing her. "You always could see more than the rest of them."

"I felt a very warm sensation blossom behind my lungs this morning," she announced in that wispy manner of hers. "And there were whispers in my ear that you would know why."

Nodding, as ever knowing better than to question her intuition, he kept both her hands in his as he explained. "A young veela's magic finally deemed him safe enough to reveal his true mate. But I truly believe he would not try to force you to bond with him. And he was genuinely upset to realize that he would have to wait another year to court you in person."

She tilted her head toward one shoulder. Pulling her hands free, she snapped loose one of her many charm bracelets from her wrist. This one was a black braided leather cord, with tiny silver star charms to either side of a delicate crescent moon. It was one of her less colorful, less abstract, trinkets – but no less suited her delicate beauty. She pressed it into his palm, its purpose clear.

"Hogwarts sent me to tell you that there is something dark and sickly within her room of hidden things. Tell Draco Malfoy I await his letter." Luna wispily requested as she let herself out through the door.

'Harel chuckled to himself as he tucked it carefully within an inside pocket of his robes near his chest before turning again to the phoenix. Fawkes cocked his head to the side, now watching him curiously. But then his yellow eyes grew piercingly sad, and the bird gave out a mournful trill.

"Ah," Era'harel stopped short before the bird's perch. "Mother?"

The feel of the castle's magic brushed up against him once more.

"I would like to speak with this majestic bird. If you would keep me aware while I slip into the Fade?"

His surroundings seemed to blur, the office sifting away like sand…

~o~

 _Dark doe-eyes stared in equal parts shock and curiosity. "R-returning? But the hurt… Fire in the water, songs of danger, tempting and hollow…" A gasp, "Why are you here?"_

 _Era'harel blinked, struggling to wrap his mind around the evidence before him. "… Cole?"_

 _The young spirit ceased its nervous twisting of its hands and cocked its head. "Yes? You know me? I know you. Moonbeams dancing, cajoling, soothing the sunburst's blistering burn…"_

 _Well. He had never quite heard himself described in such a way before, but he couldn't say he did not like it. "You were, are, Fawkes this whole time? Why didn't you tell me when last we met?"_

 _The spirit tugged at the strands of its tawny hair. "Memories… Waking, dreaming, doubting, believing… Disconnected…"_

 _'Harel felt he was beginning to understand this one's strange speech behaviors. "You don't remember being a part of the Fade while awake?"_

 _"Yes. No! Y-yes? Singing, lulling, drifting, pulling, calling me home…"_

 _That was enough confirmation for him. "And now you are Dumbledore's familiar?"_

 _"Not his. Never his."_

 _He felt his brow quirk in surprise. "No?"_

 _"Truest Four… Protect the magic, give back to the Maker, shield His gift from the fear…"_

 _"The Founders," he breathed in sudden comprehension. "You let yourself become a part of Hogwarts. To 'protect the magic,' as you say."_

 _The timid spirit offered a wavering smile, quickly ducking its head down. It worried at the frayed cuffs of its rags, seeming unable to cease its nervous fidgeting. Era'harel felt every sympathy for the poor creature. This must have been the longest direct interaction with its true self it had received in many ages. Understandable, that it would feel awkward or uncertain, after so long alone in a wasting dreamscape._

 _Eyes widening, the reborn mage knew a moment of inspiration. "Cole… Would you like to see the dwarf again?"_

 _The spirit drew in another sharp breath, and seemed to be fighting an urge to step much closer. But in the next moment, its eyes grew very crestfallen, indeed. "C-can't keep him with me… Sun rises, eyes yellow, singing fades into whispers, deep in the shadows, out of reach… can't reach…"_

 _"I'd much like to try to help that. You trusted me to give him your message. Will you trust me, now?"_

 _Those doe-like eyes grew wide and seemed almost to hold a sea of tears within their depths. "Scion of the Black City…"_

 _Era'harel paused. Kreacher had called him that, but he had assumed it was a matter of history having been twisted and confused into vague legend. But to hear a spirit of the Fade agree… "Why do you call me that, Cole?"_

 _"She touched you with her blessing."_

 _" 'She?' Do you mean Magic?"_

 _"Magic's mother."_

 _'Harel's throat tightened, as something he had long ago believed rose up again in new hope within his heart. "A-Andraste?"_

 _"Crying, dying, all around… weeping and weeping without a sound… Children lost all to fright…. wading, fading into the night."_

 _"I knew it," he breathed, shaking his head. "Cole…_ Why _did Justice save us? Why did you safeguard F- …_ our _amulet? Do you believe this to be Andraste's plan? Can you tell me what She wanted?"_

 _The timid spirit answered only with a mournful shake of its head._

 _"All right," he sighed. Stepping closer, he gently placed his hands to its shoulders, soothing, "Cole. It's all right. It was likely far too long ago that you knew, if ever you did. Let's not let that distract us now. I ask again; will you trust me try to help you? Like you helped me?"_

 _Cole nodded, its very demeanor that of a child in awe._

~o~

Era'harel returned to the Golden Hall within that very hour. His three guests cried out and each leapt to their feet in alarm at seeing the all-too-familiar phoenix perched upon his raised arm. He lifted his other hand in a stalling motion, before wands could be drawn. "He is not loyal to Dumbledore. He was charged by the Founders to safeguard and encourage the growth of magic at Hogwarts. And, as I am their heir, that grants his loyalty to me."

"And you know this, how?" Severus softly demanded, stance tense.

"He told me," 'Harel told them. "Phoenixes never lie. That, and Hogwarts herself confirmed it."

Slowly, the three began to relax, seeming to trust in his word, if in nothing else. For that, the young mage was very grateful. Draco stepped slowly forward, his mouth tugging in a hesitant smile. "You can understand him now? Snakes, and now phoenixes?"

'Harel chuckled. "Not in that sense, no. Just Fawkes. I highly doubt it would be the same, were I to be fortunate enough to encounter another phoenix."

The blond seemed to take him at his word. He lifted his hand in hopeful invitation. Fawkes trilled and fluttered forth to land carefully on the young aristocrat's wrist. Draco beamed in such obvious surprise at having been accepted by so pure a creature, letting out a small laugh as the bird's beak nuzzled his hair. Fawkes bemused them further, lighting into the air and soaring in excited circles around Severus and Lucius until they too each lifted a wrist and received the same treatment.

"Well," Era'harel declared as the bird finally returned to his arm and shimmied up to perch upon his shoulder. "That appears to have settled your doubts, yes? Oh, and Draco?"

"Harry?"

"Your mate wished me to inform you she eagerly awaits your letter." The three others stared as he reached into his robes and tossed the charm to his blond friend, relying upon Draco's seeker hands to catch the delicate trinket. "She felt your awakening this morning, and was clearly receptive. In her way."

Draco looked at the braided leather in his palm for a long moment, before gingerly tying it around his own wrist. He brought out his wand once more, pointing its tip at the bracelet and waving it in slow circles. 'Harel recognized the feel of the strengthening and protection magic sinking into the leather and its silver charms. He wholly approved.

Leaving the three to amuse themselves with this new bit of information, 'Harel sought privacy in another room, locking the door. "Kreacher."

A muted _crack_ answered his summons.

"Please go to Gringotts, and bring the goblin Abrasion back with you if he consents to a meeting."

The burly goblin appeared moments later, taking a long look around to be certain they were alone before letting his glamour fall. "Something wrong, Blondie?" Varric wondered.

Era'harel said nothing, keeping his gaze upon Fawkes as the bird left his shoulder and floated forth to hover in the air between them. With a triumphant trill, the phoenix burst into a brilliant display of fire and light. 'Harel lowered his arm from shielding his eyes as the flare faded, witnessing Varric froze in the act of doing the same. The dwarf was far less prepared than he for the sight of the young man in torn clothing looking between them with frightened but hopeful doe eyes under a messy fringe of dandelion blond hair.

"… "K-Kid?"


End file.
